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THE 



QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Where are you going, Flinter?” asked Mrs. Ashton of 
Ashton Grove, who was picking her way along the dirty 
village road with most admirable skill, steadying herself as 
she paused to put the question on two rather unsteady stones, 
placed (or more properly speaking thrown) to facilitate the 
crossing of foot passengers. “ Where can you be going in 
such haste on Mr. Robert’s hunter?” repeated the impa- 
tient lady, leaving no time for reply from the sturdy, and 
deliberate person she addressed. 

“ I am going to Swinton, ma’am,” answered the bailiff, 
drawing up his young master’s hunter so abruptly in the 
middle of the sloppy road, as to scatter the mud over his 
mistress’s dress. 

On reconsidering the occurrence an hour after, Mrs. Ash- 
ton saw petty malice and covert disrespect under an action 
so unusually sudden, for Thomas Flinter was, on most oc- 
casions, thoughtful and slow to a proverb; but her curiosity 
being too much excited at the moment to admit the entrance 
of any other feeling, she continued the conversation with- 
out a comment on the splashing. 

“ Going to Farmer Headman’s I suppose; you spend 
half your time there. But why can’t you take your own 
2 


14 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


pony, since there is one kept on purpose for you, instead of 
Mr. Robert’s hunter? If you should lame it I don’t know 
what Mr. Robert will say.” 

“ Master told me to take the hunter, ma’am,” replied 
the sturdy bailiff, who considered that such an answer was, 
or ought to be, conclusive and satisfactory, showing, at the 
same time, by the compression of his lips, and the draw- 
ing down of their corners, that he was by no means pleased 
with being catechised, and intended, according to his wont, 
particularly when addressed by Mrs. Ashton, to tell no more 
than should be absolutely extorted from him by question- 
ing and cross questioning, one of his greatest delights being 
to baffle interrogators by the brevity yet truth of his replies; 
for Thomas Flinter was a most conscientious disciple of 
the true — a despiser of the beautiful, and an abhorrer of the 
new. 

“Ah! that is just like your master; he never thinks of 
any thing, and quite forgets that piece of rough road before 
you get to Swinton, though I told him of it only yesterday, 
and talked to him half an hour about indicting it. Well! 
if you lame the hunter it will be no doing of mine. Slave 
as I may to keep all things in order, I can get nothing done 
right.” 

The thick lips of the sober, sturdy bailiff relaxed in their 
compressure the least little bit in the world; but this was 
the only token of his having heard the lady’s complaint, 
and she proceeded without waiting for a reply. 

“ Before you go to Swinton, you had better ride to Fee- 
tor’s Close, for, as I came by this morning, I saw Purcell’s 
pigs trying to get through the hedge into the turnips. There 
was no one at their cottage to send to drive them away; and 
it was too dirty to go myself. I am sure those pigs are not 
properly rung. Tell Purcell I must have them pounded 
unless he can keep them out of our grounds.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” replied the bailiff shortly. 

“ But you are going the wrong way,” cried Mrs. Ash- 
ton, sharply. “I told you Fector’s Close, not Burton’s 
Close.” 

“ Yes, ma’am; but I must go to Swinton first.” 

“ Why so?” 

“’Cause it’s master’s orders, ma’am.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


15 


“ You can go there afterwards. The pigs will destroy all 
the turnips, and Fanner Headman will be sure to be at 
home at dinner time.” 

“ Master told me to go to Swinton as fast as I could, 
ma’am,” answered Flinter doggedly. 

“ But he did not know of the pigs,” remarked Mrs. 
Ashton, as resolute in her purpose of having her own way, 
as Flinter was in opposing her. 

“I dare say not, ma’am; master don’t purtend to know 
every thing — as some do.” 

“You can go to Headman’s afterwards,” persisted his 
lady. 

“ 1 don’t want to go there at all, ma’am.” 

“ Where are you going to then in Swinton?” 

“ To the Cross Keys, ma’am.” 

“ Ah! Flinter, will you never take warning?” exclaimed 
his mistress triumphant at having elicited the truth, and re- 
joicing in the idea that she had found a legitimate excuse 
for a lecture. “ Will you never see the evil of spending so 
much time at the Cross Keys? I am sure I have talked to 
you more than enough on the subject.” 

“That you have, ma’am; — never a truer word spoken!” 
said the bailiff heartily. 

“ And yet it is all of no use,” continued his lady. 
“ There you sit evening after evening, drinking and gossip- 
ing with Farmer Pratt, and Farmer Long; spending your 
money, instead of laying it by to make your old age com- 
fortable.” 

“ I ain’t a going to gossip, or spend any money ma’am,” 
replied the bailiff in a vexed tone, conscious that the charge 
of this evening sojourning at the Cross Keys was correct, 
though only two instances of a failure in sobriety could 
be proved against him during a life extended to more than 
fifty years; and one of those was at the birth of Master 
Robert, the eldest son and heir. “ I must talk to the farm- 
ers about the price of corn and hay,” he added in a lower 
voice. 

“ You had much better not go to the Cross Keys at all; 
it is a great temptation. Your master should have thought 
of this, and not sent you into harm’s way. What are you 
going for?” 


16 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ On business of my master’s, ma’am.” 

“What business?” demanded the lady, her curiosity 
taking a new turn. 

“ To order something, ma’am?” 

“ To order what?” questioned the lady more eagerly, the 
bailiff’s provokingly short answers rendering her curiosity 
more vivid. 

“ Post horses, ma’am,” replied Flinter with most annoy- 
ing slowness. 

“ Post horses! Bless me! what can he want with post 
horses?” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton in a perfect fever of agita- 
tion from curiosity and wonder. “ Why cannot he have 
his own horses if he wishes to pay a visit?” 

“ They are gone toHarston, ma’am, to fetch coals.” 

“Ay, the horses are always engaged about the farm just 
when they are wanted. But why can’t your master wait 
till to-morrow? What can he want post horses for in such 
a hurry?” 

“ I did not ax him, ma’am,” replied the bailiff, permitting 
the fiery hunter of intent, or through bad horsemanship, to 
curvet about in the muddy road to the great detriment of 
Mrs. Ashton’s gown, adding drily; “ I never axes more 
questions than there is need of.” 

“Nor give longer answers than you can help,” remarked 
his lady rather sharply; by no means satisfied of his respect 
from his particularity in saying ma’am at the close of every 
sentence, having always found him most especially particu- 
lar in the use of that monosyllable, as he made it, when 
most resolved on baffling her curiosity. “ I heard nothing 
of this an hour since. Did not your master say where he 
was going to?” 

“ I think, ma’am, he said some’ at about going to meet the 
coach at Dingely Hollow, and Manchester, or Liverpool, or 
some such outlandish place.” 

“Manchester? dear me! then he must have heard some 
bad news from his cousin. Did he say anything of Mr. 
Harman, Flinter?” 

“ Not a word, ma’am, as I heard. He only told me to 
ride to Swinton on Master Robert’s hunter as fast as I could, 
for fear he should miss the coach; and so ma’am I hope 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


17 


you wont delay me with any more questions or master may 
be vexed.” 

“ I have no wish to delay you with questions, and had 
yon told me this at first should not have slopped you at all,” 
replied Mrs. Ashton with a lofty air. “Make haste, as 
your master told you; but when you have ordered the 
horses and seen about the pigs, you had better call at Mrs. 
Praed’s. I hear she has a new harrow just come down, 
which is to work wonders, and clear the land from weeds; 
and I am sure our farm wants weeding sadly.” 

“I’ll go if I have time, ma’am; but there is a rough 
piece of road near Mrs. Praed’s that might lame Master 
Robert’s hunter. And what should ladies know about har- 
rows? — t’ ain’t in their way,” replied the bailiff bluntly, leav- 
ing his mistress to take .the last part of his speech to her- 
self, or apply it to Mrs. Praed just as she chose; setting off 
as he concluded at a speed astonishing to those, who had 
only seen the sober pace at which he generally trotted his 
sober pony, an animal nearly as sturdy in make, aud deli- 
berative in movements as his rider. 

Whether this rapidity of motion was td please Mr. Ash- 
ton, or get rid of his own ill humor, his thoughts for the 
next few minutes half muttered to the winds, half kept to 
himself may enable us to judge — 

“ Yes, yes: I’ll go and look arter them pigs quick enough, 
as them Purcells shall find; for their getting into the turmits, 
the finest crop in all the country, is monstrous vexing though, 
I would not let missus see as how I cared a pin about it. It 
is a shame of them Purcells letting the poor animals, that 
don’t know no better, go a trespassing; and it ain’t for want 
neither, for they might be well to do in the world, or it 
would be a different matter. I don’t blame the pigs, no 
how. But as for the harrow — I shan’t go laming Master 
Robert’s hunter and wasting my time a riding over there. — 
What can Mrs. Praed tell of harrows I should like to know? 
or her new fangled bailiff either, that she must have all the 
way out of Scotland forsooth? as if an Englishman could 
not do for her, but she must have a furriner, who is for all 
the new things and new ways, which never answers. Give 
me the old ways I larnt of my father, and he of my grand- 
father afore him. Where would you see better crops than 

2 * 


l8 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


theirs? Ay, or mine either, though I says it, as should not 
say it? ril show them there turmits against the county, and 
all the Scotchmen in the land. Why they lives upon oat- 
meal for breakfast and dinner in Scotland; and the inside of 
a sheep as gentlemen and all Christian people gives to their 
dogs. There is a country for you! What should they 
know of farming, or any thing else? Not but what they 
haves some pretty cattle too; but then they grows wild 
without their help. Then there is missus always talking 
about the weeds, and wanting the farm to look as tidy as the 
best drawing room, just arter she have turned every body 
out, and put every thing in its place. Why it is umpossi- 
ble for mortal man to do it! Won’t weeds grow whether 
you will or no? and if you pulls up one to-day, won’t you 
find six more in the same hole to-morrow? and if you 
spends all the money where is the profit? Clean fields, and 
clean purses go together to ray thinking. If the sun shines 
and the rain falls weeds will grow; — and if the sun don’t 
shine, nor the rain fall how should the crops grow, pray? 
Not that there are more weeds in our fields than in our 
neighbor’s: — no, nor so many neither; but then missus is 
never satisfied do what you will. Talk! talk! — ax! ax! ax! 
I never knew a woman ax so many questions in all my 
life. I wonder if she ever axes the birds why they sing or 
what they sing? I have heard her scold the old black rooks 
for eating up the corn and trying to look so harmless all the 
while. Now master is quite a different sort of a person, 
he never axes no more nor he can helps; but then he knows 
I manage all for the good of the family: so there is no need 
of his interfering; and he lets things go on their own way; 
but missus! — there .is no quiet in her; she is never contented 
unless she can poke her finger into every body’s pie, and 
she ain’t contented then. But then it is of no use talking: 
Missus will be Missus to the end of the last harvest; — a 
talking about every thing, and at every body. I do believe 
when she is laid in her coffin that she will ax the sexton 
about digging the grave. Yet she ain’t so bad in some 
things neither. She is kind to the poor any how, though 
she won’t let them boil their pots nor nurse their children 
as they likes; but she don’t know nothing about farming — 
that is sartain.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


19 


Thus ended the muttered soliloquy of honest Flinter, 
and giving the hunter a thump with the large oaken 
stick, which was his inseparable companion, he proceeded 
towards Swinton at a pace, which promised to bring him 
very shortly to the Cross Keys. 

At the same time on trudged Mrs. Ashton towards Ash- 
ton Grove, picking her way along the muddy road with 
well-practised skill; and so great was her impatience to 
ascertain the cause of her unlocomotive husband’s intended 
journey to Manchester, or some such outlandish place, that 
she absolutely only stopped to question and lecture two 
women, and one boy, out of the seven persons whom she 
encountered on her homeward route. 

“ My dear, what can you be going to Manchester for?” 
demanded Mrs. Ashton, bouncing (we really can give the 
lady’s mode of entrance no more elegant term) into her 
husband’s study. 

“ I am not going to Manchester, my dear,” replied the 
quiet owner of the mansion, continuing to arrange his dress- 
ing case, after bestowing one look of surprise on his ever 
active lady. 

“ There! that is just like Flinter: he told me you were; 
but there is no getting the truth out of him, question as you 
will;” exclaimed the breathless Mrs. Ashton, sinking into 
a chair. “ I dare say you never ordered him to take Ro- 
bert’s hunter to Swinton.” 

“ Flinter misunderstood me, that is all: I never knew 
him to tell a falsehood in my life.” 

“ No such great merit in that, when he says so little.” 

Perhaps Mr. Ashton had a passing thought that others 
might be improved by following Flinter’s example; but he 
did not say so; and the vexed lady continued. 

“ Upon my word, Mr. Ashton, he gets worse and worse, 
and you really must part with him, for there is no putting 
up with his impertinence. There he kept me standing 
nearly a quarter of an hour in the dirty road, instead of giving 
me a proper answer at once. Then he fancies that no one 
knows anything of farming but himself; and all the while 
he is ignorant, obstinate, and pig-headed as can be. I 
really shall be obliged to give him warning myself some 
day.” 


20 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ It will be of no use if you do, my dear; he will not go.” 

“ Not if you uphold him against me, Mr. Ashton, as, 1 
am sorry to say, you always do. The story goes that he 
has declared his resolution to live and die in your service.” 

“ I dare say he has.” 

“ Then it was a most impertinent declaration; and you 
ought to show him that you will be master, and have what 
servants you please. I am sure we might easily get a bet- 
ter bailiff. There is Mrs. Praed now; — but you are pack- 
ing your dressing box after all. I thought you said you 
were not going to Manchester.” 

“Nor am I, though somewhere in the same county.” 

“ That is just like you, Mr. Ashton! You are almost as 
bad as Flinter, there is no getting the truth out of you with- 
out so many questions. I see by your face that something 
dreadful has happened. Why did not you tell me at once 
that your cousin Harman was dangerously ill? I thought it 
would be thus, he looked so black under the eyes when he 
was last here; and would not take my advice, though I am 
sure I could have cured him; but no one ever attends to me 
till too late. What medical man has he called in? Doc- 
tor Putman, or Doctor Fuller?” 

“Neither, that I know of, my dear.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ I am not aware that he requires a medical man: when 
I last heard he was quite well.” 

“ Then why are you going to Nelson Villa in such haste, 
sending Flinter on Robert’s hunter, who I am sure will 
break his knees?” 

“I am not going to Nelson Villa,” replied her husband, 
who showed as great an objection to being questioned as to 
his movements, as Flinter himself. 

“Not going to Nelson Villa! Then where can you be 
going? You said nothing to me of this before I went out.” 

“ How could I my dear? The post had not arrived then: 
and I could not possibly foresee the awful summons it 
would bring.” 

“ No, Mr. Ashton, you never foresee any thing. But 
what is the matter? for you look as white as a sheet, and 
your lips are quivering now. Are all the children well? — 
and my brother’s family?” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


21 


“ Yes, yes, Sarah; all well!” replied Mr. Ashton a little 
impatiently. 

“ But where are you going; for you tell me nothing?” 

“To Liverpool,” said her husband in a low tone, and in 
some embarrassment. 

“ To Liverpool? Now I see it;” exclaimed Mrs. Ash- 
ton, delighted at her fancied foresight triumphing over her 
sorrow at their fancied misfortune. “Mr. Wagstaff, for 
whom you w'ould stand surety, though I advised you not, 
has run away — or become a bankrupt — or some such thing; 
and we are alll beggars. I knew it would come to that!” 

“ Nonsense, my dear: if Wagstaff ran away, you would 
still have a handsome jointure: — this is no question of 
money.” 

“ I was not thinking of myself, but of you and the 
children,” observed Mrs. Ashton reproachfully. 

“ I am sure you were, Sarah,” replied her husband 
kindly. 

“ But what is the matter, Mr. Ashton? Shall I never 
hear? It is no little thing that could move you so much: — 
but perhaps you do not wish to trust me — so I will ask no 
more questions.” 

“Indeed, Sarah, I wish no concealment. This morn- 
ing’s post has brought me a letter from Mrs. Clare, begging 
me to go to her immediately.” ^ 

“ Oh! Miss Moffat that was — your guardian’s daughter. 
The young lady whom you fancied in your boyish days, 
only her father and brother said “ No,” you being then 
a younger son. I did not know you corresponded with 
her,” remarked Mrs. Ashton, trying, but in vain, to ap- 
pear indifferent. 

“ She whom I loved with my whole heart in my youth, 
and respect and regard in my age!” observed Mr. Ashton 
with unwonted warmth. “ She is dying!” he added in a 
hollow tone. 

“ Poor thing!” said Mrs, Ashton with genuine sympa- 
thy. “ But it is odd her sending for you,” she continued 
after a moment’s pause. 

“ She has no other friend. Her father and brother have 
long been dead; and her husband died suddenly a week 


22 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ago, unable to bear up against the dread of being declared 
a bankrupt. She is left penniless with an only daughter, 
reared in luxury.” 

“ Poor things! Poor things!” exclaimed his wife with 
still deeper pity: for, as Flinler had said, she was not so 
bad after all, though she would poke her finger into every 
body’s pie. “ Come and sit by me on the sofa; and we 
will consult what is best to be done,” she continued, lead- 
ing her husband to a seat, shocked at beholding such un- 
wonted emotion. “ How came this about? I thought Mr. 
Clare was rolling in riches.” 

“ So it was supposed; but some unfortunate speculations, 
with unforseen losses, and the dishonesty of a false friend, 
and lately admitted partner, have accomplished his ruin; and 
the principal creditor, a rejected suitor of Mrs. Clare’s, will 
show no pity for the widow and orphan, though the former 
is given over by her physicians: — at least, this is what I 
understand from her hurried and incoherent letter.” 

“Ay poor thing; not very clear, I dare say with so 
many sorrows pressing on her. To lose her fortune is 
bad enough; but to be left a widow, is far worse.” said 
Mrs. Ashton, the tears coming into her eyes as she looked 
affectionately on her husband. “I may say sharp things 
^ometimes, but I do not mean them; I always pray not to 
ue left a widow. I am a little quick in temper occasion- 
ally; but you will forget that when I am gone.” 

“ I owe you more than I can ever repay for five and 
twenty years of careful affection,” replied her husband, 
pressing her hand; and too much touched by her words ' to 
remember at the moment how often her over care for him- 
self and his concerns had fidgeted him, and every one else 
within her reach. 

“ Thank you, my dear, for saying so,” said Mrs. Ashton 
with a faltering tone. Then, after a brief pause, resuming 
her favorite office of questioner, she asked — “ Had Mr. 
Clare no friends!” 

“ None, as I understand; he was not a person to make 
friends when rich, and poverty is proverbially friendless; — 
his widow and orphan have no earthly protector.” 

“ They must come here; — or if they would prefer a 
house of their own, they can have the cottage at Woodside. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


23 


T will go and give orders to have it cleaned directly,” cried 
Mrs. Ashton with the promptness of her nature, forgetting 
in her compassion some former occasional touches of jea- 
lousy. 

“ This is like yourself, Sarah!” said her grateful hus- 
band, looking on her as admiringly as he had done in his 
youthful days. 

“ Now I think of it, I will go down with you at once to 
Liverpool,” cried Mrs. Ashton, turning back from the door, 
which she had already reached, in her haste to give orders 
for preparations at Woodside. “ Mrs. Clare will be pleased 
with the attention; and T can devise so many things for her 
comfort which you will never think of. 1 shall soon be 
ready.” 

“ Stop, stop!” said her husband, arresting her departure, 
just as she was leaving the room. 

With all his regard for his active wife, and sense of her 
kindness, he did not desire her presence at his approach- 
ing interview with his first, and now dying love. Her 
utter want of tact, and incapability of remaining quiet unfit- 
ted her to be the witness of a scene so sad — so harrowing. 

“ Mrs. Clare, I am sure, will feel truly grateful for your 
kind intention, of which I will inform her; but there are in- 
superable objections to those intentions being carried into 
effect. The delay necessary for your preparations would 
make me too late for the coach; and I must travel all night, 
for I fear there is not a moment to be lost. Besides, how- 
ever, grateful for your kindness, Mrs. Clare, considering 
the past, might not think Woodside an eligible residence 
should she recover, of which there seems but little hope: — 
she would not have summoned me whilst a chance of life 
remained.” 

“ I forgot all that;” said Mrs. Ashton compassionately, 
whilst her husband turned away to conceal his quivering 
lip. 

“You forget all but the suggestions of your own warm 
heart,” remarked her husband, thankful for her sympathy, 
and doing full justice to her generous pity. “ If our fears 
should be realised — if Mrs. Clare:” he paused, for the me- 
mory of his early love came back upon him, and after a 
separation of more than five and twenty years (for he had 


24 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


not seen her since her marriage) he could not speak of her 
approaching death with calmness. 

“ You must bring her child here: — she shall be as a daugh- 
ter to us — as one of our own children,” said Mrs. Ashton, 
catching his meaning. 

“ God bless you, Sarah! and He will bless you for this 
kindness to the orphan,” exclaimed her husband fervently, 
throwing his arm around her for a moment, then abruptly 
quitting the room to conceal his emotion. 

“ Mrs. Ashton’s kindness and pity were never passive. 
Instead of contenting herself with saying — I wish that poor 
child had a frock — or that old woman a gown — if there 
were no materials in the house for either, and she could not 
have the carriage to go to Swinton, the horses being en- 
gaged in the farm (where, by the way, she asserted they 
always were engaged) she would trudge over to the next 
village, maugre wet, dirt, or heat — purchase the goods, 
after some little questioning or grumbling — snatch up the 
first pair of scissors that came to hand — cut out the various 
parts — then distribute those parts to all the working mem- 
bers of her household in parlor, hall, or kitchen, herself 
assisting in fitting and putting them together; hurrying 
each sempstress till the whole should be completed. With 
such active habits, it was not to be expected that Mrs. Ash- 
ton would spend much time in a sentimental reverie after 
her husband’s departure. Two minutes thought of former 
times — a sigh — and another muttered “ poor thing?” in allu- 
sion to Mrs. Clare, whose story she had heard from her 
husband before their marriage, was all she could afford to 
passive pity; the next moment she was up and stirring; 
ordering and arranging all things for Mr. Ashton’s travelling 
comfort. She looked herself to the packing of his clothes, 
that nothing might be forgotten; — she spoke herself to the 
postillion about speed and careful driving; and no sooner 
was the carriage out of sight than she began to turn the 
house topsy turvy by way of preparation for the expected 
visitor, making up her mind at once that Mrs. Clare must 
die, and that Miss Clare, (whom she made out by reckoning 
to be about twenty) would certainly take up her abode at 
Ashton Grove. 

Robert, the eldest son and owner of the hunter, to get out 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


25 


of the bustle, betook himself to paying morning visits, 
whilst Emma, the eldest daughter, listened to her mother’s 
surmises and orders, answering one and trying to obey the 
other with her usual complying sweetness, though, if per- 
^ mitted, she would much rather have crept into some quiet 
’^' corner out of reach of the rumpus. 

Mr. Ashton, (solely owing to his wife’s directions, as she 
declared) was in time for the coach at Dingely Hollow; and 
the kind and quiet owner of Ashton Grove pursued his 
journey to Liverpool with a heavy heart, to see on her 
death-bed her whom he had loved in his youth with a 
strength of affection which, if duty had subdued, time had 
not worn away. 


3 


26 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Put aside that curtain, Cecil; I would look out once 
more on the works of God, which I so loved to look upon 
in health; and the sun is shining in through that narrow 
chink, as if inviting me to hope,” said Mrs. Clare in a feeble 
voice, addressing her daughter who was sitting beside her 
in the darkened room, holding her hand in hers. 

“ You afe better, my own dear mother — much better?” 
exclaimed the affectionate Cecil resuming her place by the 
sufferer’s side, after drawing aside the window curtains, 
and pressing her lips on her forehead as she reclined on the 
sofa supported by pillows. “ Your voice is stronger; and 
there is a beautiful pink on your cheek; you will soon re- 
cover to bless your child.” 

“ Hope it not, Cecil; — it can not be!” said her mother 
faintly. 

“ Yes, yes, it can: you said yourself just now that this 
sunshine told of hope.” 

“ Not earthly hope, my child, — I shall not see another 
sun.” 

“Oh! say not so, dear mother; -you can not — shall not 
leave me,” exlcaimed her agonised daughter, throwing her 
arms around her with passionate energy. 

“ Hush! hush! my child. I can not bear those sobs,” 
said Mrs. Clare, kissing her brow “ I would gain strength 
from you; and you but make me weaker. Be calm.” 

“ Be calm — yet think of losing you! Oh mother, dearest 
mother, do not leave me all alone! I have none left but you,” 
cried Cecil wildly, her sad appeal broken by sobs. 

“ Say not so, Cecil: I leave you not alone: there is One 
mightier than man who will protect the orphan.” 

“ Forgive my wilfulness, dear mother. I would fain 
bend beneath His chastening, but when I think of all that 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


27 


I have lost — ” here choking sobs stopped Cecil’s utterance; 
and as she glanced at her own black dress, and her mother’s 
widow’s cap, giving way to a fresh burst of grief, she again 
clung round her sole remaining parent, exclaiming wildly: 
— “ Yes this I could have borne; but to lose you too — to 
have none left to love, or love me! — If you die — I must die 
too. God will not deal so hardly as to take away my only 
stay.” 

“ My child, I must not hear such fearful words. God 
deals not hardly with his sinful children. If he remove 
their earthly stay it is to draw them nearer to himself. In 
our prosperity I fear we thought too little of all this; and 
now when sorrow comes upon us we murmur and rebel. 
Be grateful for the past and trustful for the future. Con- 
fide in him, and he will not desert you. The love of man 
may be found false and fleeting — the love of God is as an 
ark of strength. Pray, pray, for resignation to His will.” 

“ Not to lose you: — I can not part with you,” said Cecil, 
but less wildly. 

“ He gave his only Son, for you, my child.” 

“ Oh, God forgive me! I am very sinful,” faltered Cecil, 
bowing her face upon her mother’s shoulder, shamed into 
submission by this mild reproof. 

“ We are all sinfnl, my child,” said her mother, press- 
ing her to her heart; “ but I did not expect this passion- 
ate grief, after my warnings not to hope.” 

“ I could not — I would not believe those warnings. I 
must still.hope” — replied Cecil fondly. 

“ No, no;” faltered Mrs. Clare, sinking back, exhausted 
by an exertion beyond her strength, 

Cecil shocked at the change in her appearance flew for 
some reviving drops, and after a while Mrs. Clare was ena- 
bled to resume her gentle but earnest admonitions, and Ce- 
cil listened to her every word with a growing fear that she 
might not hear those loving accents long. 

“ It is getting late,” said Mrs. Clare on awakening from 
a troubled sleep. “ The sun is sinking — and yet he does 
not come.” 

“ Who, dear mother?” asked her daughter. 

“The friend of my youth to whose care I would con- 
fide you,” replied the invalid, a faint flush coming into her 


28 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


cbeek as she spoke. “ I loo am sinking,”— she added 
faintly. 

“ You have sat up too long: — let me call Missing, said 
Cecil anxiously. 

“ No,” replied the sick woman, laying her hand on her 
arm to detain her. “ I must see him. And hark! I hear 
a carriage. All else might change; but he could not — 
thank God for granting the widow’s prayer! Go down, my 
child, and receive him: I would be alone for a short time. 
Let him come when I ring. Heaven bless you, Cecil.” 

The dying mother kissed her only child; and the weep- 
ing. girl went down to receive as a stranger, him who had 
loved her parent with a strength of affection few would 
have suspected from his placid temper. — His impressions 
if not quick were lasting. 

Mr. Ashton started back with surprise on entering the 
splendid drawing-room of the late Mr. Clare from which, 
in consideration of his wife’s illness, nothing had as yet 
been removed by the creditors. Every thing bespoke the 
wealth and gorgeous tastes of the deceased. The furni- 
ture was all of the most costly description. Pictures by the 
first artists living and dead adorned the walls; — ornaments 
of gold and bronze, alabaster and porphyry stood on the 
richly inlaid tables; and a splendid chandelier hung from 
the centre of the ceiling, its crystal drops glittering in the 
sun through its gauze covering. But it was none of this 
that startled the visitor — it was the vision of her so truly 
loved, and who advanced to greet him with the trace of sor- 
row on her features, but still with much of the brightness 
of youth. Just so had his Cecil looked in her younger 
days: — just such had been her deep, dark, hazel eyes, that 
could brighten with mirth, or soften with pity: — just such 
her long dark curls, though now put back in disorder, with- 
out a thought of tasteful arrangement: — just such her slight 
and graceful figure, bending like the willow, yet rounded 
into a statue-like symmetry. 

“ Cecil!” murmured the gazer, thinking only of their 
last sad meeting, and sadder parting, forgetting, for the mo- 
ment, the lapse of years, and that this could not be his 
early love. 

Cecil looked up in surprise at the tone, for never once 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


29 


during her wedded life had Mrs. Clare even hinted to her 
daughter the tale of her former trials; or told how her father 
and brother, for the sake of gold, had compelled her to 
give her hand to one whilst her heart was another’s. Mr. 
Clare alone had known the truth: but even he could only- 
guess from her failing health how ill his gold and pompous 
attentions had succeeded in healing heHieart’s deep wound. 

“ My mother will see you presently,” said Cecil sadly, 
motioning her startled visitor to take a chair. 

“ I beg your pardon;” said Mr. Ashton recovering from 
his surprise. “ You are so like your mother that 1 forgot 
the past.” 

“ So they say, would that I were like her too in mind.” 

“ I am happy to hear that she is better,” observed Mr. 
Ashton, his voice faltering as he saw Cecil’s tears. 

“ This morning I thought her better — very much better: 
but now I cannot tell; — she is fainter and weaker; and there 
is a strange look in her eyes and she says — But will you 
come into another room?” said Cecil breaking off abruptly, 
and trying in vain to check her sobs. “ I know not why 
I came into this apartment, it looks so large and gloomy, 
and feels so chill; — and the sun is sinking now — and I can- 
not bear to look upon it, for she is sinking too, and says she 
shall not see another day. This is very silly; and very wrong 
in me; and to a stranger: — but you looked so kindly.” 

“ And felt as kindly,” replied Mr. Ashton, taking her 
hand, and leading her into another room on the other side 
of the house. “ Make no excuses, and do not look upon 
me as a stranger; but believe that I feel with you, and learn 
to regard me as a friend — a second father.” 

Cecil thanked him in a low voice, and soothed by his 
gentle sympathy, was able to conduct him with tolerable 
composure into Mrs. Clare’s presence, on the ringing of her 
bell. Absorbed in her own sorrow, she remarked not her 
visitor’s emotion as he entered her mother’s chamber. 

Mrs. Clare was the first to speak when left alone with her 
guest. 

“ You come at the call of a dying woman, as I knew you 
would; and Heaven bless you and yours for this kindness. 

I had no fight to expect it for I broke my vows to you 
through fear, not duty. You were away — and they pressed 

3 * 


30 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


me hard — father and brother; and I was weak and yielded. 

1 erred in this; but in all else I strove to do my duty, and 
now can look upon you as a friend — a valued friend — but 
nothing more. I wronged you, Robert; — but you have for- 
given me — have you not? — or else you will?” 

“ Talk not thus, Cecil,” exclaimed Mr. Ashton whilst 
the large tears rolled down his cheeks unheeded. “ Talk 
not thus! you did me no wrong. 1 knew how it was; — you 
could never resist; and I felt no anger. Would to heaven 
that 1 had not left you — then — ” 

“ Do not let us recur to former times,” said the invalid 
with firmness. “ Much as I have longed to receive an as- 
surance of forgiveness from your own lips it was not for 
that I summoned you. I have not called you here to mourn 
over the past; but to provide for the future. I ask not your 
pity for myself — I seek your protection for another. The 
wealth that tempted my kindred has made itself wings and 
flown away; and he who owned that wealth is in his grave. 
My child has now no father; — another day, and she will 
have no mother.” 

“ Say not so!” exclaimed Mr. Ashton, interrupting her. 
“ This is but a sickly fancy; — your doctors give us hope;— 
they — ” 

“ Cannot see the heart,” added Mrs. Clare, closing the 
sentence. “ Look upon me and ask yourself if I can live. 
The icy hand of death is on me even now; a mother’s love 
alone could give me strength to meet you thus.” 

Struck by her words Mr. Ashton looked at her more at- 
tentively than his own emotion had before permitted, and 
it was some minutes before he was sufficiently composed to 
resume the conversation. 

“ I know not if I was right in sending for you; and yet 
you will not blame me, I think,” said Mrs. Clare. “ I have 
no friend — no relative to whom I can confide my child, so 
young, and pardon a mother’s blind affections, so lovely, 
and so worthy love. When I am gone — ” 

“ She shall live with me — she shall be as my child,” 
cried Mr. Ashton warmly. 

“ Shall she?” exclaimed the sufferer, bending forward, 
and laying her long, white fingers on his arm as she gazed 
earnestly into his face. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


31 


She shall; — doubt it not!” replied Mr. Ashton in an- 
swer to her eager question. 

“ Thank you! thank you! But Mrs. Ashton — your wife 
— will she? — I have no right to ask it,” faltered the sufferer, 
her bright look suddenly dimmed by a shade of anxiety. 

“ It was her own proposal; and she would have accom- 
panied me hither had there been time for delay.” 

“ Indeed! But does she know?” 

“ Enough to ensure her kindness for your child.’ She 
knew when I gave her my hand, that she had won but a 
blighted heart; — that she could never be to me what you had 
been.’^ 

“And yet she will receive my child?” 

“ Not only receive, but love her, Cecil. Do not mistrust 
her; — the world knows not her real worth.” 

“ And you will be her guardian — her protector?” 

“ Her father, Cecil.” 

“ She may be penniless.” 

“ With a daughter’s love, she shall receive a daughter’s 
portion, should she require it. Can I say more?” 

“Heaven bless you and her!” faltered the sufferer, sink- 
ing back on the pillows, exhausted by her late excitement, 
pale as a corpse, with her eyes closed; but with a smile of 
peace upon her pallid lips. 

Mr. Ashton bent over her in silent agony; she seemed 
struggling for the ''power of utterance; and he heard the 
murmured words — “ My child.” He touched the hand- 
bell near, and Cecil was in the room in an instant, kneel- 
ing by her mother’s side, chafing her cold hands in hers. 

“ I leave you to his care, my child; — look on him as a 
father!” said Mrs. Clare in a low, hollow voice, pointing 
to Mr. Ashton. 

“ I will regard her as a precious legacy,” replied that 
gentleman laying his hand with solemnity on the head of 
the still kneeling, sobbing girl. 

“ Now I die happy! — thankful — most thankful for this 
mercy! May God bless you — and yours! — and bless my 
child!” faltered the dying mother, flinging her arms with a 
sudden effort round her weeping daughter. 

It was the last token of that mother’s love. — The cling- 


32 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ing arms relaxed their grasp; and the head sank upon the 
bosom. 

Mr. Ashton, withdrawing her gently from her child’s sup- 
port, replaced her on the sofa. Cecil looked with a shud-' 
der into her mother’s face; — then, guessing the painful 
truth, with a wild cry sank senseless on the floor. 

“ Let me go to my mother?” exclaimed Cecil on reco- 
vering from her swoon, for they had borne her into another 
room.” 

“ Not yet, my child; you require rest;” replied Mr. 
Ashton, taking her hand with a father’s gentleness. 

“ Child! Who calls me child? and who are you?” she 
demanded wildly. 

“ Your mother’s friend — the friend of her youth, to 
whose care and aflection she has confided you.” 

“ Confided me!” exclaimed poor Cecil starting up and 
wringing her liands as the truth came full upon her. “ Have 
I no mother?” 

“You have friends who will strive to supply her place,” 
replied Mr. Ashton kindly, supporting her trembling frame. 

The orphan girl, gazed on the speaker with a look that 
told her desolation; then, reading in his quivering lip and 
tearful eyjB the answer to her pleading glance, she wept 
on his shoulder unconsciously dinging to him certain of 
sympathy. 

No other friend came forward to dispute with Mr. Ash- 
ton his right of following his early love to the grave, and 
protecting her only child; and so many claims on the estate 
poured in that there was little chance of that child’s inherit- 
ing a guinea of all her father’s boasted wealth; but this 
effected no change in Mr. Ashton’s manner, indeed was no 
more than he had contemplated from the first. The final 
settlement of Mr. Clare’s affairs, from the complication of 
his concerns, which his sudden death, caused by the burst- 
ing of a blood vessel, had left him no time to arrange, 
could not be completed for some years; and being neither 
relative, creditor, nor legally appointed guardian, Mr. Ash- 
ton could have no voice in the necessary proceedings, a 
fact by no means displeasing to a man of his quiet, placid 
temper, who hated trouble, bustle, and business. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


33 


To soothe Cecil’s sorrow was far more suited to his 
talents; but that soothing partook of his general character, 
and consisted in silent sympathy, and quiet kindness, rather 
than active exertions to divert her thoughts from her late 
heavy misfortunes. 

Blow had succeeded blow so quickly that poor Cecil 
sank for a time beneath the shock; and it was a month be- 
fore she was well enough to travel with her kind guardian 
towards Ashton Grove by easy stages; and even then, 
though the body gathered strength, the mind still showed 
how deeply it had suffered; — youth’s buoyant spirits were 
all gone. She uttered no complaint — she tried to reward 
Mr. Ashton’s watchful care by smiles; but it was plain to 
see that she walked as one in a strange and desert land — 
lonely and desolate; — -bound by no tie to earth; and yet 
was she so young and of such warm affections that her 
torn heart could never rest in peace loving and loved by 
none. Mr. Ashton had inspired her with perfect confidence 
in his regard; and truly grateful for his kindness, she paid 
him the respectful attention of a child; — but still he was 
not her father; — Mrs. Ashton could not be her mother; — 
she had no brother — she had no sister; — she stood alone in 
the world — a blighted, faded flower; — despised by the 
worldly; but how much despised, happily for her at the 
moment, she did not know; her illness and succeeding_de- 
parture from Liverpool having prevented her feeling the 
coldness, or hearing the bitter remarks, of those, who had 
formerly courted and flattered the wealthy heiress. 

Mrs. Ashton, who received her young guest at the door, 
after leaving her in her own room with an injunction to 
lie down and sleep till dinner, only disturbed her thrice in 
the intermediate two hours to ascertain if she slept, the 
rest of her time being spent in questioning her husband, 
who, with all his real regard for her worth, and gratitude 
for her attentions to himself and Cecil, could not help 
wishing that she could be persuaded of the wisdom of one 
regulation of the order of La Trappe. 

“ How came you to be so late, my dear? 1 have been 
expecting you these three hours, and would not have the 
luncheon sent away on that account. Were the horses 
bad, or the post boys sulky? or perhaps it was that horrid 


34 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


piece of road near Swinlon. Well now that you have 
found the inconvenience of it yourself, my dear, I really 
hope you will indict the road; I was nearly overturned 
there the other day; and I arn sure Miss Clare must have 
been quite terrified. I arn shocked for the honor of the 
county, that a stranger should see our roads in such a con- 
dition: you really must get it mended — or what will she 
think?” 

“ Nothing, my dear; she never remarked it,” replied her^ 
husband, cheated into a half smile at her supposing that 
poor Cecil cared for the mending of a few yards of turn- 
pike road. 

“ You may think that she did not remark it, my dear, 
because she was too polite to make a comment; but that is 
no proof: — I remark a great many things myself, though I 
say but little about them.” 

“ What things are those, mamma?” asked her eldest son, 
with an arch pretence at simplicity. 

“ What, are you there still, Robert? I thought you were 
gone to show old Jenny how to take up the leaves. I am 
sure I begged you to do so a quarter of an hour since. 
She is so awkward at it; and really when once the leaves 
begin to fall there is no keeping any place in order, or fit 
to be seen. Look how stupidly she sets about it: do pray 
go and show her the proper way.” 

“Teach deaf old Jenny how to take up leaves! A right 
proper and dignified employment for a fine young man of 
four and twenty!” exclaimed her son. “ But I suppose I 
must go, or there will be no peace. The schoolmaster is 
abroad! so come Emma, and take a lesson,” he added 
seizing on his laughing sister, and dragging her out on the 
lawn. ' 

“ Jenny, my good woman, that is all in the wrong: yon 
should always use your left hand instead of your right in 
picking up leaves — as thus” — he shouted into the old wo- 
man’s ear, giving her basket a dexterous twirl as he spoke 
so as to throw the leaves it contained exactly in the line of 
the autumn breeze, that scattered them about over lawn, 
path, and bed, in streams and eddies, to the infinite dismay 
of old Jenny herself, and the infinite amusement of old 
Jenny’s grandson, a mischievous urchin standing near. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


35 


“Lauk, Master Robert! whafrwill missus say?” exclaimed 
poor Jenny, holding up her hands in absolute horror. 

“ Oh! your missus sent me to teach you how to pick up 
the leaves,” replied Master Robert turning away with a 
laugh. 

“ A right proper and dignified feat for a fine young man 
of four and twenty!” observed his sister demurely. “If 
such is to be the leaching of the schoolmaster, I will have 
none of his lessons.” 

“ Why I do believe you have something of the dunce about 
you, Emma, or you never could submit so quietly to all my 
mother’s fidgets.” 

“Thank you,” replied Emma making a low courtesy. 

“There is no pulling you out ^f temper, Emmy; and 
that is very provoking.” 

“On the contrary, I am ashamed to say that I am very 
often most wickedly cross; but I have been taught that it is 
a duty to repress ill temper, instead of giving way to it.” 

“That is meant for me: — I understand: — and duty — 
that comes from our good aunt Emma, whose name you 
bear. — I hale preaching.” 

“And practice loo?” asked his sister archly. 

“I suppose you would say so.” 

“ I would say nothing unkind, dear Robert.” 

/ “ No, that you would not, Emma. I wish I could be as 
patient as you. But don’t you comprehend that I am in a 
very ill humor this morning?” 

“Oh, yes! I have no difficulty in understanding that. 
But what is the cause of this very unusual effect?” 

“ Why that girl to be sure!” 

“ What girl? whom do you mean?” 

“ Miss Clare.” 

“ Miss Clare!” 

“Yes, Miss Clare! what other girl could I mean?” 

“Oh! 1 thought you might have been ouiflirted by Miss 
Power.” 

“Outflirted! that is always the way with you women,” 
replied her brother, his vexation increased by her observa- 
tion. “A girl can not smile — a man can not laugh; but 
what you call it flirting, and think proper to lecture on de- 
corum. You are all flirts at heart, though a want of oppor- 


36 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


tunity, or a fear of— ‘ the world’s dread laugh!’ may keep 
some demure.” 

“Allow me to thank you in the name of my sex; 
replied Emma with a second and profounder courtesy. 
“ That I may not offend again, will you have the goodness 
to define what flirting really is?” 

“ Give a definition to a woman! Why that would be 
throwing peaches to a monkey — pine apples to a hedge hog! 
Ask a girl what she means, and she cries: — Mean? oh! I 
shall not be able to make you understand. We women are 
not good hands at definitions — we can not define — we feel.” 

Emma laughed. 

“ Poor women! we are all in the wrong this morning; 
and Miss Clare’s offence I suppose, consists in her being a 
female.” 

“ No such thing! I have an especial hatred to Miss Clare; 
and only wonder that you have not the same.” 

“Poor Miss Clare!” 

“Ah! that is the very thing. Poor Miss Clare! — We 
have heard ot nothing else for the last month. Every body 
and every thing must be displaced to make Miss Clare com- 
fortable. She must have the little dressing-room, where I 
used to sulk at my pleasure (the pleasantest room in the 
whole house, by the way) for her boudoir; and there has 
been no quiet in the house, what with hammering and 
scrubbing to give her clean floors, and clean curtains, I 
have been scolded for wearing creaking boots, lest they 
should annoy Miss Clare: — ordered to get a new coat and 
lay aside my favorite Dahlia one, for fear she should faint 
at the smell of a cigar, because 1 once chanced to smoke 
one, when wearing it; besides being lectured over and over 
again about manners; — not to laugh so loud — not to talk so 
much: and this from my mother! — In fine, I have been told 
so many hundred times that she is a poor orphan, without 
father or mother (as if an orphan could have either) and that 
I must receive her as a friend — a sister — that I have been 
worked up into a positive horror of this dear, interesting 
girl, and regard her as an absolute incubus. And now, to 
crown all, she comes as a perfect kill joy, with double bom- 
bazine, and treble crape; jumping with nervous terror, 


37 


THE Q.UIET‘ HUSBAND. 

which I dare say she thinks very betwitching, at the chirp- 
ing of a grasshopper.” 

“ Oh! Robert how can you say so? Think of her misfor- 
tunes! Her emotion on first arriving — her gratitude for 
mamma’s kind welcome — her pale, sad face — her evident 
wealyiess should have secured your pity.” 

“ Pity! don’t talk to me of pity, and a pale, sad face. I 
hate pale, sad faces: — crying, and nervousness, and all that 
sort of thing. I shall not be allowed to whistle the dogs; 
and the dogs will not be allowed to bark, for fear Miss 
Clare should jump. I wonder my mother did not put the 
whole family into mourning, bombazine and crape; cats, 
kitchen maids and all. Pretty airs she will give herself.” 

“ Airs, dear Robert! How can you say so? She seems so 
gentle.” 

“ Yes airs. Miss Emma. I know what I say; but I see 
you are resolved to like her, and that increases my ill hu- 
mor. Do not trust to her seeming so gentle; she has 
been a spoilt child from her birth; eating gold — drinking 
diamonds — and reclining on lapis lazuli; having her own 
way in all things, except when that way thwarted her 
father’s which was but rarely. There was not a young man 
in the whole city a fit match for her; — she might condescend 
to dance with a few, as otherwise she must have sat still, or 
stayed at home, and thus lost the opportunity of displaying 
her splendid jewels, and handsome dresses: but if one with- 
out a title, or a rent roll as long as a prosy gossip’s story, 
ventured to hint his hopes — her papa looked Lorenzo the 
Magnificent, and she his own child.” 

“ I have heard that Mr. Clare had a taste for splendor; 
and not wishing his daughter to marry one connected with 
Liverpool discouraged her forming intimacies; but surely 
we may excuse a father’s partiality, however blind, for an 
only child, so lovely and so amiable.” 

“You excuse every one, Emma. Amiable! — ask Skin- 
ner about that; — he had a specimen of her airs, and her 
father’s haughtiness.” 

“I doubt Mr. Skinner’s being a very good judge of fe- 
male manners.” 

“That is always the way with you girls, you never think 
a man can understand a woman, whereas we know your 
4 


3ft 


THE aUIET H^^BAND. 

sex a great deal better than you'do yourselves. And as for 
her loveliness! — commend ’me to a scraggy figure — gogle 
eyes, edged with, a black rim — a complexion like a dab of 
<]ough — a turned up chin, and compressed lips, that bespeak 
a haughty temper.” 

“ Oh! oh! oh!” cried the laughing Emma, holding up 
her hands. “ One would think that you were a rival b'lauty. 
You make no allowance for her late illness; and her chin is 
beautiful! — classical! — and — ” 

“ I have hated the classical ever since I was flogged for 
my Virgil,” exclaimed her brother, interrupting her. “ She 
is a downright fright compared to my sister Emma.” 

“ Do not endeavor to coax me into a cabal against the 
stranger by flattery; but rather suspend your own judg- 
ment.” 

“ Not I; Skinner’s account was enough for me, there is 
enmity between us now, and for ever.” 

“ Stop, stop, Robert.” 

“ And stop, stop, Emma; those lips were made for kiss- 
ing, not for scolding,” replied her brother, suiting the deed 
to the word. “ I know I am a very naughty boy; but the 
fit is on me, and must have its way. I wish I could put 
someone else as much out of humor as myself. Ha! there 
is Flinter. Holla, Flinter! have you been over to see the 
harrow at Mrs. Praed’s? I hear Frazer is doing wonders 
with it; and your mistress is very anxious that you should 
use it. Have you seen it?” 

“ No, Master Robert. I have not seed it; and what is 
more I don’t intend to see it,” replied Flinter surlily, catch- 
ing ill humor from his young master, and setting his fea- 
tures as he always set them when particularly annoyed. 
“ If missus chooses to have the harrow let her have it; and 
another bailey too: — I hates new fangled things; and I hates 
furriners!” 

“ Ha! ha! ha! there is some one else in as bad a humor 
as Robert Ashton,” exclaimed the wayward young man, as 
the vexed bailiff’ marched off in a huff. 

“I shall be gone, lest I too catch an ill temper from you, 
or a cold from this northern breeze,” said Emma, turning 
towards the house to conceal her amusement at honest Flin- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 39 

ter’s discomfiture, though half provoked with herself for 
laughing at it. 

“ Adieu then; I shall go and flirt with Miss Power.” 

Emma shook her head reprovingly, but her brother only 
laughed at the silent admonition. 

Whilst her son was venting his ill humor in abuse of. 
poor Cecil, Mrs. Ashton was teasing her husband with a 
thousand questions concerning the same young lady, clo- 
sing her queries and comments with the remark. “ My 
dear, how ill you are looking. I am sure there is some- 
thing the matter with you.” 

“I am very tired,” replied Mr. Ashton, wearied with 
her countless questions; and will go and lie down on the 
sofa in the study till dinner time.” 

“ Ay, do, my dear; and I will come and see that you are 
comfortable.” 

Poor Mr. Ashton quitted the room with a look of pas- 
sive despair; but as his practice, if not his maxim, was 
any thing for a quiet life, (which said quiet life, by the 
way, he could never obtain,) he made no objection to her 
proposal. Had Mr. Ashton been in parliament he would 
have always voted with the ayes whether whigs or tories; 
— he had no talent for opposition. 

Mr. Robert Ashton returned to dinner, but the placidity 
of his temper seemed little increased by his flirtation with 
Miss Power; and his enmity towards the interesting stranger, 
as he called Cecil in derision, acquired fresh strength from 
her involuntary start at the noise occasioned by his awk- 
wardly throwing down a chair; and his mother’s fidgeting 
fuss about her comfort, by which she made herself and every 
one else uncomfortable. 


40 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER III. 

The next morning nothing would do but Mrs. Ashton 
must lionise poor Cecil in her pony chaise. “ The drive 
would do her good — she could be wrapped up warm; and 
if Robert would walk by the side (they should not go fast) 
he could open the gales, and give her his arm if she felt 
inclined to walk for the purpose of obtaining a better view 
of the surrounding country;” — but Robert was particu- 
larly engaged and could not assist in the lionisalion. His 
hunter’s mane and tail must be cut on that particular morn- 
ing, and he must of necessity superintend the operation. 

“ Come, Robert, with all your prejudice you must admit 
the sweetness of the smile with which Cecil rewarded my 
care in tucking the cloak round her feet,” observed Emma 
to her brother as they stood at the hall door after the de- 
parture of the pony chaise. 

“ Oh very sweet. , 

‘ Sugar and spice, 

And all that’s nice;’ — 

replied her brother contemptuousl5^ 

“ Who could look cross at you, Emmy? So you call 
her Cecil already.” 

“ She begged me to do so. Miss Clare sounded so cold 
and formal she said: and as my father and mother had 
promised her the affection of parents, she hoped we should 
feel the regard of sisters.” 

“ The regard of sisters! Very pretty and romantic. I 
suppose she will beg me to call her Cecil next, and pet her 
as a brother.” 

“No chance of that; for you look as if you would de- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


41 


vour her, were cannibalism permitted in a civilised coun- 
try.” 

Robert laughed, and proceeded to the stables. 

“Now, my dear, that I have shown you the farm and 
the village — that is, a bird’s eye view of them — we will 
just drive to that hill; and then I can show you all the 
gentlemen’s seats for many miles, round,” said Mrs. Ash- 
ton, who was the most indefatigable sight shower in the 
whole county, though unluckily her zeal not being always 
combined with knowledge, her friendly efforts sometimes 
failed to elicit the gratitude they deserved. Somehow or 
other (we do not pretend to explain the phenomenon, but 
there are people who have a peculiar talent for such mis- 
apprehension) Mrs. Ashton always showed her friends 
just what they least w'ished to see; and omitted to point 
out what they most desired to contemplate; and so it had 
chanced throughout the morning w'hilst lionising Cecil. 
Miss Clare cared nothing about soils loamy, sandy, or 
chalky; and as little about turnips, mangel wurzel, lucern, 
or rape; nay she even had not a clear conception of the 
peculiar merits and distinctions of Tartarian oats and Tala- 
vera wheat, notwithstanding a Ipng, and, of course, lucid 
description of their differences and perfections from her 
worthy hostess, who w'as shocked at her young guest’s 
ignorance in all matters agricultural. 

Cecil could and did admire the pretty cottages with their 
gay gardens, for autumn lingered on its way as though 
loth to destroy the bright summer flowers that still re- 
mained; and the sports and laughter of the merry village 
children cheated her out of more than one smile; but the 
fallow fields (and there were many to be seen in Octo- 
ber) appeared to her the very antipodes of the beautiful 
and the poetical, though enlivened by the cheerful whistle 
of the plough boy. The air came chill to her weakened 
frame, and having no desire for a second edition of the Agri- 
cultural Magazine, she hinted a desire to return home; but 
finding that her kind hostess had set her heart on showing 
her all the wonders visible from the top of Horseford Hill, 
she quitted the pony chaise at her desire, and toiled after 
her up the steep ascent with what speed and patience she 
could command. 


4 # 


42 


THE QUIET HUSSAND. 


“ There, my dear Miss Clare! there is a view for you! 
See round for miles — peep into three counties; and catch 
a sight of fifteen village churches, and twenty three noble- 
men’s and gentlemen’s seats! — you do not often meet with 
such a view as that.” 

“ No indeed!” replied the panting, breathless Cecil, who 
had just gained the side of this never tiring lioniser. 

“ No, my dear: there are few views to compare with this 
even in England, and none out of it. Look at those fine 
cows in that rich meadow to the right; and those as fine 
merinos on the downs before us; and see — there to the left 
is a splendid view of the sea, which must be between fifty 
and sixty miles off. On a very clear day, with a very good 
telescope, you can sometimes catch the white sails of the 
vessels gleaming in the sunshine,” continued Mrs Ashton, 
who loved her county as some people love their country. 

Poor Cecil looked to the right — the left — and before her; 
and by dint of straining her eyes did at last discover some 
animals that she could fancy might be cows and sheep, and 
a straight white line far away in the distance that she imagi- 
ned might be the sea. The parts of the landscape which 
Mrs. Ashton pointed out might be the most agricultural, but 
they were decidedly the least picturesque and beautiful; and 
Cecil turning away from the more distant prospect with its 
large fields and rectangular hedgerows, which looked poor 
and uninteresting in her eyes, gazed with pleasure on the 
nearer view, which, though not worthy of the appellation 
fine, was generally pretty, and in some parts rich and pic- 
turesque. 

“ I always begin by pointir% out the most distant objects 
first just as one bows to strangers before one shakes hands 
with friends,’^' said Mrs. Ashton, who always acted the part 
of cicerone con amove. As a valet de place she would have 
been invaluable; but alas! for curious travellers, fate had 
doomed her to be mistress of Ashton Grove. “ Look out 
just by the sea — a little to the right; and you will perceive 
a tiny speck scarcely larger than a pin’s head: — there! in a 
line between those two oaks in Lord Lindmoor’s Park; well 
that is the tower of Stockhill church, fifty seven miles off 
as the crow flies — nearly a hundred by the road: — and 
such roads! I must speak the truth, though it is my own 
county, and say that the gentlemen are most supine. In 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


43 


vain do I point out the badness of the roads: — nothing is 
done to mend them. Captain Wilder told them only the 
other day that their ways were very rough; but they only 
laughed, as they always do when we try to set them right. 
Do you see that tower, my dear? No wonder you don’t, 
for you are looking over Mrs. Praed’s Park, instead of 
Lord Lindmoor’s. There — just where my finger is. Don’t 
you see now?” 

“ You are very kind, Mrs. Ashton, in taking such pains 
to make me see all the beauties of the neighborhood; but 
my eyes have been weak since my late illness, and the air 
is chilling,” replied poor Cecil, shivering in the wind that 
swept over the bleak hill. “ Suppose you only point out 
the houses and villages near, and defer naming those more 
distant to some future time,” she added, observing that her 
hostess looked vexed at her remark. 

“ Mrs. Ashton not only looked, but felt vexed too, at this 
disinclinaiton to be made acquainted with the names of the 
fifteen churches, and three and twenty noblemen’s and gen- 
tlemen’s seats; but a glimpse at Cecil’s pale and weary face 
banished her discontent, and she closed immediately with 
the proposal. 

“ Certainly, my dear; since such is your wish. I dare 
say your late illness has left you weak; but this bracing air 
will soon restore your strength; and then I will bring you 
here again. I will begin with Lord Barringharn’s Holdish 
Park — there — out to the left: — that is only fifteen miles off 
by the high road. A large place, and some good land; but 
he thinks nothing of improvements, though immensely rich; 
indeed he is a dull, indolent man, who takes little interest 
in any thing; and his lady is like him, with nothing but 
her title to recommend her; and Lady Barbara Hetherton 
takes after her parents. The young men call her handsome; 
but she is no beauty of mine; no expression — no animation; 
says little, and that not worth hearing: but then being an 
only daughter she will be enormously rich, all her mother’s 
fortune being settled on her; so no wonder that the young 
men make a fuss about her. I hate your still life, for my 
part. Not that I know much of them to be sure; for the 
countess says she cannot visit so far, and never called on 
me, though she is often at Lindmoor; but I have met the 


44 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


family at county balls and dinners and have seen nothing 
to make me regret her ladyship’s decision. We speak 
when we meet; and that is all. She expects as a countess 
to be made much of; but I am not a person to cringe to a 
title; and I suspect she has found that out. The only son, 
Viscount Hetherton, being under age there is no knowing 
what he may turn out.” 

Cecil saw that Mrs. Ashton was hurt at not having been 
visited by Lady Barringham; but she made no remark on 
the subject and that lady continued. 

“ Not far from us — there to the left — is Captain Wilder’s 
estate; a pretty place now, and improving every day. It 
was quite a desert when he came: — poor land — a poor 
house; — and he has made it what it is. He is a most de- 
lightful person; so quick, so lively, trying all the new in- 
ventions, and making a paradise spring out of a howling 
wilderness. This is the third place he has created, as he 
says; but his quiet wife complains that when he has once 
made a place perfection he is for quitting it directly. Indeed 
there was some talk of his leaving Myrtle Lodge last year, 
and buying a tract of land at Exmoor; but there was a fire 
in the house, the masons say from one of his new flues; but 
then country masons are so ignorant and bigotted, always 
for going on in the old jog trot style — hating clever inven- 
tions, because they never saw them before; and generally 
causing them to fail from their awkwardness in putting them 
up. I really believe they do it out of spite; at least, I am 
sure they rejoice in a failure. Then before the house \yas 
quite completed down fell the bridge. I cannot imagine 
how it happened; for it was built on an entirely new prin^ 
ciple of his own discovery; and was a most elegant struc- 
ture, looking, as he himself remarked, as light as a cobweb; 
quite a fancy bridge. To be sure, the first cart that went 
over was rather heavy; but when he explained the plan — 
mutual support and all that sort of thing (1 forget the tech- 
nical terms) I thought it would have borne the Lord Mayor’s 
coach and all the Aldermen, with a train of baggage wag- 
gons behind. The old village mason said it would not 
stand, sol daresay he took no pains in the building that his 
words might come true: and that is Captain Wilder’s opin- 
ion. I must allow that he was generally there to siiperin- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


45 


tend the workmen, and see all was done right; but then, 
not being a mason himself, he could not exactly tell whether 
the bricks and workmanship were good. I wanted Mr. 
Ashton to have just such another bridge over our stream; 
but my husband never likes change or trouble. ‘ The old 
bridge had done very well for many years: and he had no 
doubt would do very well for many more,’ was all I could 
get him to say. I think he triumphed a little when Captain 
Wilder’s bridge fell in; he has such a dislike to any change; 
indeed, if it were not for me, Ashton Grove would go to 
ruin, for Flinter is more bigotted and self-willed than his 
master; but there was no cause for triumph; — you cannot 
expect a new discovery to come to perfection at once. Tlie 
Captain’s next bridge will stand, I have no doubt. Mrs. 
Wilder is a quiet, peaceable woman who would willingly 
live on for years in the same room, in the same house, with 
the same furniture; breakfasting and dining off the same 
dishes, at the same hour, if her husband would only let 
her. A sweet woman! people say. I believe she is very 
amiable; but I don’t think there is much in her. 'Fhey have 
only one child, a fine spirited girl taking after her father; 
not exactly handsome; but very pleasing and intelligent. — 
There are some excellent rooms in the house, though rather 
oddly arranged. It was built after a plan of his own; for 
he is exceedingly clever: most of the chimnies smoke; but 
he will soon set that to rights. See what fine young plan- 
tations! — none so thriving in the whole country; — in twen- 
ty years those will be beautiful woods.” 

“Whose is that stately, old fashioned looking house to 
the right, with its terrace and broad stone steps, leading 
down into the noble park?” asked Cecil, turning with in- 
difference from the stripling trees and modern Lodge of 
Captain Wilder, having more taste for present than for fu- 
ture beauty. 

“ Oh! that is Lindmoor; the seat of the earl of the same 
name. It is a fine old piece certainly; but I only half like 
it either; it always seems to me asleep, or standing still, you 
understand what I mean. There is no look of life about it: 
but this may be accounted for from the numerous deaths 
in the family of late years, and the earl’s generally residing 
elsewhere. He desires every thing to be kept in apple-pie 


46 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


order, and perhaps this love of order is why he never at- 
tempts an improvement. 1 do not think he would like the 
litter of brick and mortar: and there has not been a new 
room added to the house for the last century.” 

“It does not look as if another room could be wanted,” 
remarked Cecil Clare. 

“ Perhaps not, for it contains many fine apartments, and 
handsomely furnished too I believe; and I have not been 
within the doors for ages. The earl, when here, rarely ad- 
mits any one but the Barringharas, not caring to mix with 
commoners; and the housekeeper is such an old frump that 
she will not show the house during his absence, though 
his lordship could never hear of her so doing. Still, as I 
said before, there is no look of life about it: — nothing 
moving — nothing going on.” 

“No building, and no young plantations certainly; and 
the steps and old oaks and beeches do not walk about; but 
stand where placed of yore,” said Cecil with a half smile. 

“Yes; that is just the thing, Miss Clare.” 

“ But the trees are such fine old trees,” remarked Cecil, 
who if she could not admire fallow fields and turnips, had 
a somewhat overweening affection for old houses and rich 
woods. 

“ Oh! you like old trees, do you? well now I prefer a 
fine young plantation. The green is so much brighter, and 
the year’s shoots so much longer; you can see it grow, as 
it were, like children shooting up all life and spirits instead 
of old people sitting still in the chimney corner, and ma- 
king one melancholy by the thought of decay. Then 
those wolds are so very thick and gloomy that the sun can 
scarcely glide between the branches even at mid-day; and 
the water runs so still and dark, with the trees dipping into 
it, that one can hardly look down into its depths, without 
thinking of drowning oneself, instead of dancing along clear, 
and bright as at Captain Wilder’s, where you can see the 
trout at play.” 

“ Oh, beautiful!” cried Cecil, continuing to gaze on the 
noble park of Lindmoor. “ I so love deep woods, and dark 
still water!” 

“ Then our tastes differ. Miss Clare. I hate every thing 
gloomy and still; but you are young; when of my age you 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


47 


will prefer moving, lively scenes. Youth has so much 
gaiety of its own that it fancies melancholy things are very 
pretty for a contrast; but let it feel real suffering and it 
turns from gloom to gaiety for diversion.” 

Cecil shuddered as her eye rested on her mourning dress, 
whilst her thoughts recurred to her late heavy afflictions; 
but Mrs. Ashton, unconscious of her emotion, proceeded 
in a tone that jarred still worse on her sensitive feelings. 

“ If you like Lindmoor so much, you had better play 
pretty to the earl when he comes down; — they say he 
made a very good husband to his first wife. At present he 
thinks only of his son, a boy of twelve, whom he hardly 
lets out of his sight, lest some harm should befall him. 
Having lost three elder children by consumption he is 
wrapt up in this only remaining one, and it is thought by 
some would not survive his loss. Should the young vis- 
count Fitz Elwyn follow his brothers, and the earl die 
without other issue, the title, and some of the estates, will 
descend to a distant relative, wdiom his lordship dislikes; 
so should any misfortune happen to his darling I have no 
doubt that Lord Lindmoor would marry again, in the hope 
of obtaining an heir. His property, as you see, joins ours; 
but we were never intimate; and the whole race I under- 
stand are as proud as the descendants of a city knight. 
That pretty cottage in the nook between the two estates is 
the vicarage. Mr. Brockley is a most worthy man, just 
what a clergyman should be; so strict towards himself, so 
charitable towards others; the old esteem him, and the 
young love him; but his health, always delicate, and worse 
since the death of his wife, keeps him almost entirely at 
home, except when called abroad by duty. That belt of 
trees — there to the left, is the boundary of Mrs. Praed’s 
estate; and there you can see the house, just peeping 
through the wood. It is a gentlemanly looking place; and 
that is all in my opinion. Mrs. Praed is made more fuss 
about than she deserves; but then a widow left uncontrolled 
mistress of a landed property of some thousands a year 
must be a person of consequence. She knows nothing 
about farming herself, but has a very clever bailiff of the 
name of Frazer, who has the best crops in the county. 
He is not above taking advice and trying new inventions, 


48 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


unlike Flirtter, who is so obstinate that I can do nothing 
with him; and poor dear Mr. Ashton is so indolent that he 
never will interfere. I really wish he would be a little 
more energetic; but the only occasion on which he has 
acted promptly for years was his late journey to Liverpool; 
and then I had to give directions to the post boys, or he 
would never have been in time for the coach at Dingley 
Hollow.” 

“ I am truly grateful to you and to him,” said Cecil 
warmly. 

“ You owe us nothing. I only did as I would be done 
by, thinking what I should suffer at the idea of leaving my 
own poor girls without a protector. I wish Mrs. Clare had 
been spared to come with you; but that could not be; so you 
must look upon me as a mother. Get up your health and 
spirits again, and all will be well. But let me see; — I was 
telling you of Mrs. Praed. She has a clear income of three 
thousand a year, and no chick nor child to leave it to; so 
people are all guessing who is to be her heir, and many 
say Miss Knight, her elder brother’s only child, who has 
resided with her for many years. With this prospect, as 
you may suppose, she is flattered and wooed by half the 
young men of the county, who find Mrs. Praed’s a very 
pleasant house to visit at. But talking of gay young men, 
there is Mr. Fleetwood — the catch of the county — a bache- 
lor of eight and twenty; handsome, pleasant, sensible; with 

a large rent roll — every chance of representing shire 

at the next election, and with no prudent parents to con- 
trol his choice. You will scarcely find such another neigh- 
borhood as ours — such good society — so many indepen- 
dent fortunes; and though love is very pretty and all that, 
particularly in the honey moon, it will not provide a good 
table, keep a good stud, nor furnish a handsome house; 
even you must admit that, young as you are.” 

“ Perhaps not: — but might not true affection enable one 
to live contented without a good table, a fine stud, or a 
handsome house?” asked Cecil looking down as she spoke. 

“ It is possible that it might do so; but it never does. 
You are romantic I see. Ay, I was so at your age; it is a 
disorder incidental to youth, that passes away with the 
measles and hooping cough. Get rid of your romance, 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


49 


my dear Miss Clare, as soon as possible; it will never ad- 
vance you in the world I can assure you. Poetical notions 
butter no bread, nor even procure the bread to butter; nay, 
poets themselves in the present day instead of being con- 
tented to live in garrets on bread and water as formerly, 
(thankful if they could get such board and lodging) are not 
satisfied now without a first floor, soup, fish, entremets^ and 
pastry. Every one wants to cut a dash and be somebody; 
— now a poor person must be nobody, and therefore, though 
it was all very well in our grandmothers’ marrying for love 
(that is if they did it more than their grand-daughters, of 
which I am by no means certain) it is a style of proceed- 
ing quite unfitted to modern times. Not that I would have 
a young woman marry solely from interested motives, only 
I would have her make a prudent choice. Now Mr. Fleet- 
wood would be a good match for any one; — so what say 
you. Miss Clare, to setting your cap at him? He is expected 
shortly from abroad and you and Emma shall have a fair 
start, whicli is very liberal on my side; for I should like 
such a son-in-law prodigiously: they say he is looking out 
for a wife.” 

The sudden contraction of the brow — the haughty curl- 
ing of the quivering lip, that met the gaze of the started 
Mrs. Ashton, as she turned for an answer to her young 
companion, caused that lady to suspect that the report of 
-Robert’s friend concerning Miss Clare’s pride was correct; 
and she added half pettishly: “Oh! I see this won’t do; you 
require a title; so Lord Lindmoor must be the man.” 

“ I require no title, but would remain as 1 am;” replied 
Cecil Clare, with a quickness and passion that to Mrs. Ash- 
ton’s judgment could only be explained by the aforesaid 
report. 

“ Well, my dear, I did not mean to vex you by my jest- 
ing; but how pale you are; — and your teeth chattering. 
This north wind is too much for you; I like it — it invigo- 
rates me; but you are too weak from your late illness to en- 
dure its keenness. 'Fake my arm my dear, to descend the 
liill, and we will drive home as fast as we can. I should 
have ihoughtof this sooner,” said Mrs. Ashton with motherly 
kindness, forgetting in her pity for the shivering invalid all 
the reports of that invalid’s pride, though it did not prevent a 
VoL. I. — 5 


50 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


little more display of her powers of lionising. “ That is 
Captain Power’s Cottage; you will see it better a little 
lower down; but I have not much to say of him or his sister, 
except that he is a rattling young officer on half pay; and 
she an arrant flirt, whom some think pretty.” 

Cecil’s soft voice and smile as she thanked Mrs. Ashton 
for her care throughout the drive, staggered that lady’s belief 
in Mr. Skinner’s evil reports. 

“ It was pain, not contempt that had caused the frown and 
scornful curl,” was her thought, and when day after day, 
week after week passed on, and her young guest still 
showed herself gentle, grateful, and good tempered, Mr. 
Skinner was declared to be blind or malicious. 

But if the mother acquitted Miss Clare of pride, not so 
her eldest son, at least in speech. He still maintained that 
she was not such a piece of perfection as his parents and sister 
asserted; but he did not abuse her as loudly as on her first 
arrival, and was on many occasions studiously polite: per- 
haps the young lady herself only clearly understood the dif- 
ference of his manner towards her and others. He would 
walk and talk with her — put on her cloak — carry her para- 
sol — and turn the leaves of her music book; but his atten- 
tions to her wanted the warmth and frankness which he 
showed to some others of his sister’s friends, and there 
were times when the jesting between Robert Ashton and 
Cecil Clare was tinctured with a bitterness that threatened 
to turn sport into anger. 

“She behaved ill to Skinner,” was his reply to Emma, 
when she one day hinted that he had been hard on her fa- 
vorite Cecil. 

“ She is an orphan; and has no friends,” observed his 
sister pleadingly. 

“ She is not as destitute of friends as you imagine,” re- 
plied her brother, adding quickly, “ you are a host in your- 
self, Emma.” 

If Cecil felt anger at Robert’s demeanor she never gave 
a hint of her vexation to Emma; who being one of those 
happily constituted persons, who generally see and believe 
as they wish, continued to praise her brother and friend to 
each other till she imagined them possessed with a mutual 
regard as great as she desired. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


51 


Cecil was decidedly worse for two or three days after her 
lionisation on the summit of Horsford Hill; but subsequently 
her health and spirits gradually mended, either from the 
purity of the air without doors, the kindness experienced 
within, or a strong constitution and active mind; perhaps 
from these combined; and though she persisted in declin- 
ing all society for the present, instead of being the dole- 
ful, moping creature that Robert had anticipated, she showed 
a quiet cheerfulness when in the family circle, with at times 
a sudden gleam of gaiety, that bespoke a naturally lively 
disposition. 

If she had found Mrs. Ashton’s catalogue raisonne of her 
neighbors rather tedious she consoled herself with the idea 
that she should better understand those neighbors on a 
future introduction; and should our readers have been 
equally wearied, we recommend to them a similar mode of 
consolation. 


52 


THE QUIET HUSBAND 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ May day come! I scarcely knew that winter was gone; 
it has passed so quickly,” exclaimed Emma Ashton, 
glancing from the window at a group of dancing girls with- 
out. 

“ May day amongst the muses,” observed Cecil archly, 
looking towards Robert and his brother Edward who were, 
or appeared to be absorbed in studying — one Shakespeare, 
and the other Coleridge. 

“ May day amongst the Graces,” replied Robert gaily, 
pointing to the dancers. 

“ Indeed! then I must take a peep, having a great taste 
for the Graces Emma says.” 

“ I should say that you had a greater taste for the talents, 
Cecil,” observed Edward Ashton, roused from his book by 
the general movement towards the window. “ You prefer 
the inward man to the outward;’--the intrinsically valuable 
to the worthlessly showy.” 

“Thank you for giving me such a good character,” said 
Cecil pleased with the compliment, for she and Edward 
were great allies. 

“ That is, you fancy she prefers a slovenly poet to a 
point device young gentleman,” replied Robert with a sa- 
tirical smile, glancing at his brother’s dress which showed 
some symptoms of carelessness. 

“ Most assuredly! a poet slovenly, or not slovenly before 
a merely well dressed gentleman,” remarked Cecil promptly, 
coming to the succor of the shy and blushing Edward, who 
began hastily arranging his neckcloth. 

“Ah! Miss Clare, people never know themselves,” ob- 
served Robert, with a mocking sigh, speaking in the tone 
of mingled sport and satire in which his conversations with 
Cecil were generally carried on. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


53 


To casual observers the spirit of sport appeared to pre- 
dominate, but to Cecil the satire was most apparent, and 
at times exceedingly annoying; and she had been long 
enough at Ashton Grove to understand that her praise of 
another was pretty sure to render her hostess’s eldest son 
caustic, if not bitter, in his jesting. 

“ That is unhappily a very general complaint,” she 
replied. 

“ The very reason why such an original young lady as 
Miss Clare should be free from the disorder. Her thoughts 
and opinions — her likings and dislikings, as I understand 
her, are not those of the vulgar herd; she would scorn to be 
classed with the respectable and commonplace.” 

“I am afraid to claim admission into the first class, 
lest you should deny my claim; but to the last you declared 
me to belong only last night, because I ventured to hint a 
preference of virtue to valor, notwithstanding my regard 
for heroes.” 

“ What then? He must know little of your sex who 
could suppose it possible for a woman to remain the same 
for four and twenty hours.” 

“ Nay, Robert; no scandal of the whole sex, because you 
chance to have a demele with one,” interposed his laugh- 
ing sister. 

“You had better keep quiet Emma, and leave us to fight 
it out:” — 

She who will rush ’twixt sword and lance, 

Of deadly wound must stand her chance.” 

“ An awful warning! thanks for your brotherly coun- 
sel, conveyed in such heroic and original terms, instead of 
the vulgar old fashioned distich beginning: 

“Those who in quarrels interpose.” 

I never suspected that you and Cecil were resolved on a 
combat a V outrance'^ 

“ You are the most simple and unsuspecting of mortals, 
Emma; such however is the case, so grant us a fair field 
and no favor. All that will be required of you will be to 
bind up the wounds of the vanquished.” 

5 * 


54 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I am glad that the combat is not positively to end in 
death,” observed Cecil gaily, and in perfect good humor, 
notwithstanding the slight frown on her opponent’s brow. 

“No; I shall be satisfied with an unconditional surrender, 
and a very humble appeal for mercy.” 

“ High laud to your generosity, most valorous knight! 
But what if I refuse to surrender? what if I make no ap- 
peal for mercy?” 

“ Then the coup de grace must be given; — such is the 
invariable law of the lists.” 

“Then sharpen your dagger, for I make no appeal;” 
exclaimed Cecil Clare with a sudden flashing of her dark, 
hazel eye in answer to his look of threatening defiance. 

Robert gazed at the speaker admiringly for a moment, 
before he replied. The brilliant flush that had come up 
into her usually pale cheek, replacing for a time the bloom 
of health, which had never fully returned since her mother’s 
death, and the spirited attitude, with the slight curling of 
the exquisitely chiselled lip became her well. Neither 
look nor manner marred her womanly grace and softness; 
they only proved, half sportive as the defiance was, a na- 
tive energy of character that no suflering could entirely 
subdue. Mr. Robert Ashton might have thought that they 
intimated the sell-will of a petted child, and reputed heir- 
ess, whose slightest fancy had for years been law; but if 
such an idea entered his mind it lingered but an instant. 
She looked* so lovely that he could not quarrel with the 
feeling which lent such unusual lustre to her eye, 

“ War is dangerous and expensive,” he observed, in an 
altered tone: “Suppose we proclaim a peace.” 

“I should rejoice in such a proclamation, were I quite 
certain that on your part the peace would be more than a 
hollow truce.” 

“ Nay, if you doubt me, let it be war!” exclaimed Ro- 
bert with real or pretended indignation: — his sister thought 
the latter. 

“Just as you please: I am ready for either,” replied Ce- 
cil coldly. 

“ Let it be war then! — and now to begin. If you care not 
for gentlemanly dress or address, why excuse your dislike 
to my friend Skinner on the plea that he has neither?” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


55 

“ My dislike to Mr. Skinner requires no excuse: he has 
neither such a head nor heart as should win regard.” 

“You are severe. Would you be judged in the same 
spirit?” demanded Robert sharply. 

“ Heaven orefend!” exclaimed Cecil, coloring at the 
charge of severity, and laughing to hide a little conscious- 
ness. “ I fear 1 do not judge Mr. Skinner charitably; but the 
blame must rest partly on yourself for always trying to com- 
pel me to like him. Name him no more, and I will say 
no ill of him.” 

“You mistake; I have no wish to compel you to like 
any one, though I may lake up the cause of a friend a little 
too warmly; but you must admit that your accusation of 
his having neither the dress nor manners of a gentleman 
sounds rather strange from one who has just professed a 
contempt for the outward man, thinking only of his in- 
ward worth. You should not in justice blame him, though 
he had the clownish blouse and bow of a plough boy. 

“ It is you who mistake now, Mr. Robert Ashton. — 
When I said that Mr. Skinner was not a gentleman, I did 
not allude to his outward fashion, as much as to his inward 
moulding. A plough-boy with blouse and rustic bow might 
chance to be a pleasanter companion.” 

“ Indeed will you favor me with the definition of a gen- 
tleman?” 

“ A real gentleman has a warm heart, a generous spirit, 
and an enlightened mind, feeling what is due to his maker, 
and his fellow men. Such a man will not be a coxcomb; — 
his bow may be wanting in grace; but vulgar or imperti- 
nent he cannot be.” 

“ I thank you in the name of myself and my friend, 
Miss Clare. You consider him then vulgar and imperti- 
nent; and merely because he requested the honor of an in- 
troduction to a young lady, who refused that request with a 
haughtiness worthy of an empress; and loud enough to be 
heard by the presumptuous applicant; to say nothing of her 
subsequent hauteur^ 

“ I was not aware of Mr. Skinner’s being within hearing; 
and am sorry he should have felt hurt at the fancied haugh- 
tiness of my refusal. Of my subsequent hauteur he has no 
right to complain, since he brought it on himself by persist- 


56 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ing in an introduction to Miss Clare, to use his own words, 
the heiress of unbounded wealth. He would have preferred 
her money bags could he have procured them as partners.” 

“ Oh! then it was a matter of pique after all! You were 
annoyed at the idea of his preferring your wealth to your- 
self. — Here is the moral of the tale!” 

“ 1 consider Mr. Skinner’s preference as any thing but 
an honor,” replied Cecil proudly not a little irritated by her 
opponent’s manner, which to tell the truth was irritating 
enough. 

“ All young ladies say that; it is the regular form of a 
woman’s speech. But you blame Skinner too hardly for 
preferring substantial gold to fleeting beauty.” 

“ It may be a very wise decision; and I leave you or any 
one else who has patience or philosophy enough for the 
attempt to prove its wisdom.” 

“ I boast of neither patience nor philosophy; and only 
uphold his right to acquire your acquaintance after your 
introduction to a vulgar, ignorant hunch back, who had no 
attractions to boast of within or without except a title. I 
think he showed bad taste in entering into a competition 
with his puissant lordship; but that is a mere matter of 
opinion. I should have been more inclined to follow Fleet- 
wood’s example (to whom I believe you declined an intro- 
duction at the same time) and left the field to the estimable 
and gentlemanly hunch back. And is this, really and truly, 
the whole and sole cause of your dislike to Skinner?” 

Cecil’s eyes sank beneath the penetrating gaze of the 
questioner, whilst her cheeks flushed to a deeper crimson, 
then paled to a deadly white, as the events of the ball at 
which Skinner’s introduction had taken place rushed back 
upon her mind. Then she had been in the highest health 
and spirits; — radiant in beauty — rich in hope — the reputed 
heiress of almost countless wealth; — flattered — courted — her 
wishes law — her will consulted in all the arrangements of 
the night; and more, far more to her affectionate heart, the 
treasured child of doting parents. What was she now? 
Faded in health and beauty; — blighted in heart — bankrupt 
in hopes; — if not despised, yet still not sought; — a beggar — 
and an orphan! The white lip quivered for an instant — 
the hands were clasped; — then, checking her emotion with 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


57 


a strong effort, she answered briefly and coldly, conscious 
of her inability to continue the war of words, so vanquished 
was she by the war of contending feelings. 

“ Mr. Fleetwood’s was in my opinion the more gentle- 
manly mode of proceeding. Lord Semminglon was intro- 
duced without my wishes on the subject having been con- 
sulted; — but I have not yet attained sufficient strength to 
venture on a recurrence to the past, so let us choose some 
other field for our combat.” 

“ I have pained you. Can you forgive me?” exclaimed 
Robert earnestly, with a sudden and entire change of man- 
ner. 

“ Readily — most readily! I owe you all so much,” re- 
plied Cecil warmly giving him her hand with friendly frank- 
ness, which was taken with an eagerness which again called 
up a transient blush into the cheek of the invalid. 

A burst of laughter from Emma and Edward, whose at- 
tention for the last few minutes had been fully occupied 
with the May-day children, and a call on Cecil and Robert 
to look out at the dancers, prevented any further conversa- 
tion between the two latter. 

“ Capital! this beats the ballet! Go it it Ned!” cried the 
highly amused Robert, throwing up the window and thus 
encouraging a little sweep with brush and pan, and a wreath 
of red roses round his sooty brow, to out-shuffle and out- 
caper his partner, a village maiden with streaming ribbons; 
and a face as merry but somewhat cleaner than his own. 

The children, excited by the applause of the young men 
and the smiles of the young ladies, out-did all their former 
feats, till, panting and breathless, they were obliged to stop 
from sheer fatigue; when the throwing of “ four silver shil- 
lings,” as the little sweep exclaimed in an ecstacy, into the 
treasurer’s tin canister, crowned their glee, and so far reno- 
vated their strength that they were on the point of recom- 
mencing their dance, when Mrs. Ashton’s appearance turned 
their intended shuffles into courtesies. 

“ Hey day! What all the village come out for a dance 
instead of being at school?” began "^Mrs. Ashton in a repro- 
ving tone, that softened into sympathy, as she proceeded, 
with the glee of the garland bearers and their capering atten- 
dants. “ Ah well! May-day comes only once a year, so I 


58 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


suppose I must not scold. You dance famously, children. 
Thank you for your good wishes; and may you long have 
such merry hearts,” she continued in reply to the May-day 
congratulations of the eldest girl, who was pushed forward 
as spokeswoman by the awkward, shamefaced boys. — 
“ Here is something to buy you new shoes; for you will 
certainly want them if you go on at that rate. But you are 
as rich as jews already!” she exclaimed, espying the shil- 
lings given by the laughing group at the window, as she 
dropped her own offering into the tin canister. ‘‘ What do 
you intend to do with all this money?” 

'rhe children looked at her — at each other — and then on 
the ground; — grew redder and redder — nudged their neigh- 
bors to give answers and tittered — but said never a word. 

“ What do you mean to buy with all this money?” re- 
peated Mrs. Ashton, resolved to obtain a reply, “ Come, 
Jenny, do you answer if the others won’t. You should 
always speak when spoken to, and not hang your heads, 
and look silly. I must talk to Mrs. Bull, and make her 
teach you to answer properly.” 

Thus adjured; and to be saved a lecture from the school- 
mistress, Jenny ventured to speak, though scarcely louder 
than a whisper. 

“ Some on us means to buy gingerbread, ma’am; and the 
others lollypops, or elecampane; but Sam says as how he 
,will have bull’s eyes.” 

“ Spend five shillings in gingerbread, lollypops, and ele- 
campane!” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, absolutely astounded 
at the declaration. “ I never heard such wasteful wicked- 
ness in all my life. So little Sam must have bull’s eyes — 
must he? And how is his poor grand-mother to find him 
and his two mischievous brothers in clothes I should like 
to know, so nearly helpless as she is? Bull’s eyes indeed! 
w^ell if he can get bread; ay, or any of you. Had you said 
frocks and shoes it would have been another thing; though 
you ought to take it all home to your parents, who want it 
more than you do. Think what all this money would 
buy.” 

“ A dozen frocks, thirteen flannel bedgowns, twelve night- 
caps, twenty-five pair of shoes, with pots, pans, and ket- 
tles to boot,” interposed the laughing Robert, excessively 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


59 


amused at the abashed looks of the children. “ My dear 
mother will not let even the poor May-day children spend 
their money as they please. Lest she should favor us with 
a lecture on political economy, I vote for an instant ad- 
journment to the dining room, where luncheon waits us. 
Do second my motion. Miss Clare.” There was a some- 
thing so frank and friendly in the young man’s address 
that Cecil, forgetting their late warfare, took his arm as 
readily as though there had never been any thing but peace 
between them; whilst Edward and Emma followed in their 
wake. 

If Robert had thought Cecil lovely in her indignation, 
he thought her still more bewitching in her present friendly 
mood; and did the honors of the luncheon table with the 
assiduity of one desirous of effacing all remembrance of a 
former slight. 

“ What not done luncheon yet?” exclaimed Mrs. Ash- 
ton, entering the room before the ham and chicken were 
quite demolished. “Really, m)'' dear, you should better 
divide the time between breakfast and dinner; you know Dr. 
Farr ordered you to eat often,” continued the lady of the 
mansion, addressing her quiet husband. “ And dear me, 
Mr. Ashton, going to take pastry in the middle of the day, 
when you know that Doctor Farr said it vas the worst 
thing you could eat, so heavy, so indigestible! It is little 
short of suicide.” 

“ It will do me no harm,” replied Mr. Ashton helping 
himself with the greatest composure. 

“ That is just like you, my dear; you never will take 
care of yourself. Good gracious, Robert! you are not per- 
suading Cecil to take any of that cream. It will be abso- 
lute murder in her delicate state.” 

“It will do her no harm,” replied her son, imitating his 
father’s imperturbable placidity, and banding the plate to 
Cecil with a very demure look. “ Shall I help you to 
some ham, mamma? It is a capital specimen of Hanson’s 
powers; and your instructions. Do let me send you some?” 

“ You may give me a little piece. I thought the hams 
would turn out well this year,” replied Mrs. Ashton, forget- 
ting, in her pleasure at this household success, that tart and 
cream must infallibly cause the death of her guest and hus- 


60 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


band. “ Only a small piece, Robert, for I was obliged to try 
Mrs. Hopford’s cake, good woman; there was no getting out 
of it. But have you heard the news?” 

“ News! my dear mother; pray make haste and proclaim 
it; for I am enniiye to death, as Miss Power says, and was 
beginning to think that no one was ever born, married, or 
buried in this most dull of neighborhoods.” 

“Miss Power is a sad flirt; and I wish you would not go 
there so much. Mrs. Praed assures me that the wliole 
county says it will be a match: and as you know, neither 
your father nor myself would at all approve of such a 
daughter-in-law; and I am particularly vexed that Mrs. 
Praed should have such an idea. As for this being a dull 
neighborhood, I think it a very gay one.” 

“ Well, my dear mother. Miss Power shall be a sad flirt 
— the neighborhood exceedingly gay; and Robert Ashton 
a wicked coquet, if you will but tell us the news, which we 
are all dying to hear. Delay I assure you will be far more 
dangerous than gooseberry tart, or raspberry cream. Is it 
an elopement you have to relate?” 

“ No, Robert; I am sure no young lady — ” 

“Would commit such a deadly sin, you would say, my 
dear mother. Oh! no; they are a very proper set, having 
a very proper horror of love and love-making. But what 
is it then — a birth — a death — or a marriage?” 

“Two deaths; and, in due time, a marriage.” 

“ And the birth comes after in proper course. But who 
is dead? Speak, mother, speak! 1 am sure it is nobody by 
your silence. Old Suky Flukes I suppose is dead; and her 
wild son is to marry the bar-maid at the Cross Keys, the 
pretty Bessy Tollar.” 

“ I hope Bessy has not such an idea; but I will speak 
to her on the subject.” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, wlio took 
a great interest in Bessy from her being the child of an old 
servant. 

“ She has not invited me to the wedding,” observed her 
laughing son: “ but in pity to my anxiety, inform me who 
is dead.” 

“It is more than you deserve,” said his mother, half 
provoked at his teasing; “but you are incorrigible! It is not 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


61 


Suky Flukes who is dead, but the Earl of Lindinoor, and 
his son, Viscount Filz Elwyn.” 

“ How? where? when?” inquired Robert, Edward, and 
Emma, in a breath. 

“ As for the how — the viscount was thrown from his 
pony and killed on the spot. You remember the brown 
pony that Lord Lindmoor would let none of the grooms 
mount lest they should teach it tricks — well it was that 
very pony. They say the animal took fright at something 
and ran away. 'Fhe earl being told of his son’s death too 
suddenly, dropped down in a fit: — he lived four and twenty 
hours after; but only spoke one word — the name of his 
child. This is the how: — the where was at his lordship’s 
villa near Nice: — the when, about a fortnight since, though, 
owing to the irregularity of foreign mails, the event was 
not known here till yesterday. Poor man! that comes of 
being over careful, which shows a distrust of Providence; 
he would scarcely let the boy out of his sight; so the vis- 
count grew up too timid and nervous to cope with diffi- 
culties.” 

“ Who succeeds to the title?” 

“A distant relative: Mr. Fitz Elwyn.” 

“What the Mr. Fitz Elwyn who came with the Barring- 
hams to the county ball last year?” 

“The same.” 

“ Let me see! I think there was a son who declined danc- 
ing, and flirted all the evening with Lady Barbara, to her 
mother’s discontent. I did not much lancy the young man, 
I remember; and Skinner said he was inclined to give him- 
self airs. He brushed by me very rudely going into the 
supper room.” 

“ But then he turned and apologised very politely, saying 
that he was pushed by those behind,” observed his sister, 
“ Ah, Emma, vou have a kind word for every one; but I 
remember I did not fancy him; and he is just the sort of 
person whom a title would make positively disagreeable; 
the whole family were poor 1 think they said, and the 
young man in the army.” 

“ The father I understand has six hundred a year, and 
the son about four, the bequest of one of his sponsors, be- 
sides his pay, and they will scarcely be much richer in 
VoL. I.— 6 


62 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


proportion now, for Mr. Tuson, who made the late earl’s 
will after the death of his second son, tells me that the pre- 
sent Lord Lindmoor will only come into the entailed estates; 
which, as we know, are expensive to keep up and not very 
productive. The house in Gloucestershire, and all his other 
possessions are left to Mr. Hallam, a particular friend,” re- 
plied Mrs. Ashton. 

“ This is hard. The earl should have left his heir where- 
with to support the title.” 

“ lie should; but the earl never liked the Filz Elwyns, 
particularly after the death of his two eldest children: he 
appeared envious of his cousin’s son growing up such a fine 
young man, whilst his own had pined away with consump- 
tion; and as Mr. Fitz Elwyn was of too independent a spi- 
rit to crouch to a title his lordship’s dislike grew into abso- 
lute hatred; and but for the entail, his heir would not have 
had one shilling to maintain his rank. 

“ Earls can not be the great men they used to be; and 
must learn to eat off china like commoners. Lords are too 
numerous now a days to be looked on as demigods,” ob- 
served her son, who had been refused permission to fish by 
Lord Lindmoor, declined as a partner by Lady Barbara 
Hetherton, and accidentally pushed by young Fitz Elwyn, 
against whom he appeared to have taken an invincible 
dislike. 

“ I hope you are not going to turn radical, Robert,” said 
his mother sharply. “ To be sure” (a favorite expression 
with Mrs. Ashton) “the late Lord Lindmoor and Lord Bar- 
ringham have not shown themselves very gracious and 
neighborly; but 1 dare say we shall be very good friends 
with the present earl; at any rate, the aristocracy must be 
upheld in the present day, when the lower classes are get- 
ting above themselves; and it is very wrong and very im- 
politic to cry them down.” 

“ Hear! hear! hear! why, my dear mother, you shall 
come in for a tory borough; or be created a peeress in 
your own right to uphold the merits of the order. 

“ Wliat a commoner says may be good, 

But the speech of a lord must be better: — 

A peasant may stumble on truth, 

But an earl must be right to the letter.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


63 


“You are a very strange person, Robert; and there is 
never any guessing what you will say next, or what hu- 
mor you may be in for three minutes together: one hour 
so frank and light hearted, the next so bitter and gloomy, 
just as the fancy takes you. You were upholding the no- 
bility only the other day; but as Captain Wilder says, there 
is no knowing where to have you.” 

“ That is a wise remark for Captain Wilder,” replied her 
eldest son. 

“ No one can doubt Captain Wilder’s being a clever 
man,” remarked Edward with unusual quickness; for he 
had some of his father’s quietude. 

“ As particularly exemplified in building houses and 
bridges,” returned Robert drily. 

“Accidents will happen to the works of the best archi- 
tects,” observed Edward with a considerable show of vex- 
ation. 

“ Certainly: for instance, if an architect constructs a 
bridge without sufficient supports, the arches will fall in, 
either from the law of gravitation — or the law of acci- 
dents.” 

“ How can you prove that not having sufficient support 
was the reason of the bridge’s breaking down?” questioned 
his mother. 

“ Every body says so; and, of course, what every body 
says must be correct; at any rate it will be good practice 
for your ingenuity to prove the contrary. For my part I 
think proving and defending such tiresome work that I 
always make a rule of saying what I like, and believing 
what I wish.” 

That is a very dangerous mode of conduct. Do not 
you think so, my dear?” said Mrs. Ashton, appealing to 
her husband. 

“Think what, my dear?” asked her very quiet help- 
mate, glancing up at her appeal from the newspaper, in 
the perusal of which he had been so absorbed as to lose the 
greater part of the preceding conversation. 

“ It is of no use to ask you a question — you never attend 
to what is passing around you,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton 
pettishly, whilst Robert laughed, and the silent master of 
the mansion resumed his reading with unruffled temper. 


64 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ There, ray dear raararaa; that comes of trying to prove 
rae in the wrong. If you had followed my plan and con- 
tented yourself with believing me in error, instead of endea- 
voring to prove it, I should not have had this triumph. — 
Trust me that by the logic of the schools you might prove 
a fool to be a sage, and vice versa, at any hour of the day,” 
said Robert gaily. 

“ No logic could prove Captain Wilder a fool,” remarked 
Edward warmly. 

“ Nor his daughter a disagreeable fright, I suppose. You 
are a staunch follower of his doctrine of mutual support I 
perceive,” observed Robert with a significant look which 
effectually silenced his blushing opponent. 

“ Do tell us some more of the new earl and his family, 
our nearest neighbors that are to be,” said Emma, ever 
ready to interpose and prevent a brouilliere. 

“ And pleasant neighbors I trust too,” remarked her 
mother. 

“ That is as it may be,” observed Robert in a tone 
which rather said — that is as it will not be. “ I have no 
fancy for any of the family; they were high and mighty 
without a title, and will be still more high and mighty with 
one: as for Viscount Fitz Elwyn, I proclaim open war 
against him at once.” 

“ It is very provoking of you to speak in that way, Ro- 
bert; and once having taken such a fancy into your head 
you will be sure to make yourself exceedingly disagreeable. 
I dare say it will be a very nice house to visit at: the vis- 
count seemed a pleasant, gentlemanly young man.” 

“ I hate your gentlemanly young men; they always think 
more of the make of their coats than the make of their 
minds; and are more famed for their bow than their wit. 
Is it not so?” said Robert, appealing to Cecil, who was, 
however, too much engaged at the moment with the cream 
to which he had helped her to return an answer. 

For an instant his eye rested keenly on her; then, with- 
out waiting for a reply, he recommenced tormenting his 
mother, one of his favorite amusements, notwithstanding the 
affection with which he really regarded her. 

“ Ah, my very prudent mamma, I see how it is: — 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


65 


‘ Your eye intent 
Is on the visioned future bent.’ 

When you have won this delectable viscount for Emma, 
like a good brother, I will ‘turn about, and wheel about, and 
jump Jim Crow,’ declaring him to be a pleasant, gentle- 
manly young man — and what not.” 

“ For shame, Robert,” exclaimed his mother, coloring 
with anger. “ You know that I am no matchmaker for 
my daughters and would do nothing indelicate to procure 
them husbands.” 

“ I wish you would employ the same forbearance towards 
your sons; and then I should be spared many a lecture 
matrimonial; but I will do you the justice to say that your 
matching or mismatching schemes include the whole hu- 
man race; and that you are nearly as zealous, and have 
nearly as much pleasure in promoting the wedding of a 
stranger as of one of your own family. You are a univer- 
sal philanthropist or matrimonialist, which, of course, 
means the same thing. Take care Miss Clare, or my 
active, warm-hearted mother, in her sincere regard for you, 
will be promoting love passages between you and Lord 
Fitz Eiwyn.” 

“ How can you talk such nonsense, Robert? the viscount 
is already engaged;” observed his mother quickly before 
Cecil could reply. 

“ Engaged to whom?” cried Robert eagerly, his words 
addressed to his mother, but his looks turned on Cecil. 

“ To Lady Barbara Hetherton. Lord Barringham ob- 
jected to his suit last year, he being then only a poor com- 
moner, but has now consented to receive him as a son-in- 
law; and the Lindmoors are delighted at the match, since 
the bride will inherit her mother’s fortune of fifty thousand 
pounds besides what her father may give her, which will be 
a pretty assistance in keeping up the title.” 

“ Is this engagement a positive fact?” asked her son with 
serious earnestness. 

“A positive fact: I had it from Tuson.” 

“ What have you dropped Cecil? can I find it for you?” 
asked Emma stooping to assist her friend who was hunting 

6 ^ 


60 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


for something which did not appear to be forthcoming, 
wliilst Robert looked on without offering any assistance. 

“ What have you lost?” asked Emma again, seeing no- 
thing on the floor but a few crumbs. 

“ My handkerchief — oh! here it is” — replied Cecil, taking 
it from her lap, whence it had never fallen, using it so as 
to conceal her face, which had suddenly become of a crim- 
son hue, doubtless from the stooping. 

“ But how can all this have been settled so soon, when 
the earl and his son have only been dead a fortnight?” 

“ That is just what I asked, Emma,” replied her mother. 
“ It seems that Mr. Fitz Elwyn and his son were at Hol- 
dish Park when the news arrived, so the young people be- 
ing together the affair w'as soon settled between them and 
their parents.” 

“ How very happy for them!” said Emma, who had a 
warm sympathy for all loving young couples, though quite 
free of heart herself. 

“ If the mamma makes matches, the daughter rejoices in 
them without considering that each fresh youth entangled 
is a chance less for herself,” remarked Robert laughing at 
bis sister’s earnestness. 

“ I hope I shall never grow so selfish as to envy another’s 
happiness,” said Emma warmly. 

“ You can not be selfish, Emmy; it is not in your nature. 
So this is the wedding! — but when is it to take place?” 

“ Not till after the funeral,” replied his mother gravely. 

“I suppose not. But when and where is that to be? I 
am mamma’s own child in my taste for gossipping.” 

“ You are a very impudent boy;” said his mother unable 
to re4)ress a smile at the curious, comical look he assumed 
to bear out his assertion. The funeral is to take place im- 
mediately, in fact must have taken place already, as the 
earl and his son are to be buried at Nice, beside the other 
children who died some years ago. The wedding, it is 
said, will be celebrated in three or four months.” 

“ And when will the new earl take possession of Lind- 
moor. 

“ Very shortly it is believed, for the house-keeper has re- 
ceived orders to get the house in readiness directly. Mrs. 
Fitz Elwyn, I beg her pardon, Lady Lindmoor I should 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


67 


say, is now in Devonshire with her sister-in-law Mrs. Hart- 
ley, who is dangerously ill; and may be detained there some 
time; but the viscount is expected within the week.” 

“ I wish he could keep away: — do not you. Miss Clare?” 

“ Nonsense, Robert. How can you ask such silly ques- 
tions? What can it matter to Cecil whether the viscount 
* comes or not, as she does not know him. I insist on your 
not trying to set every one against him. It will be pleasant 
to be on good terms with such near neighbors, so you and 
your father must call immediately on his arrival.” 

“Agreed: if Miss Clare will go whh me,” said the tor- 
menting Robert. 

“ How can you tease Cecil with such folly. As if she 
would call on a young single man? See how deadly pale 
she looks. That all comes of your worrying her with such 
stuff; I defy an invalid to get well in the same house with 
you.” 

“ Coax the viscount to give her apartments at Lindmoor 
then;” observed her son with a sneer, showing no pity for 
Cecil’s paleness, though at that moment she looked more 
like a corpse than a living being. 

“ You are ill, my dear Cecil. I was sure that cream w'as 
a bad thing for you, but Robert was so obstinate, he would 
give it you: — it is all his fault.” 

“ Am I the cause of your looking so pale?” asked Ro- 
bert, fixing his keen and flashing eyes on Miss Clare, .who 
gave him no reply; or in so low a tone as to be heard by 
none. 

“ Do go away, Robert; you get more provoking every 
day. Don’t you see that by so bending over her you keep 
off the air. You are better now, my dear; • your color is 
coming again,” continued Mrs. Ashton, chafing her cold 
hand, and fussing to undo her collar, whilst Emma offered 
her some water. 

“Oh, yes! getting quite well: it was only a momentary 
faintness. I am myself again now,” said Cecil trying to 
smile her thanks to Emma, and rallying all her strength to 
answer Robert’s impertinence. 

“ And what may yourself be then?” he demanded sar- 
castically. 

“ A poor, weak creature as yet, notwithstanding all Mrs. 


68 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Ashton’s kind nursing; but I hope soon to do more credit 
to her care. I took a long walk this morning, perhaps too 
long a walk; but the day was so fine I could not make up 
my mind to come in. Having done the mischief, I will 
now play prudent and lie down till dinner time.” 

“ And I will come and put you to bed. I warned you 
that the walk would be too long,” said Emma passing her 
arm round the invalid’s waist to support her up stairs. 

“ Your spirits carry you beyond your strength: I must 
look to this,” observed Mrs. Ashton handing her a glass of 
wine, which she insisted on her drinking, “I suspect you 
require change of air. If you do not improve in a day or 
two, sorry as I shall be to part with you, I shall insist on 
your accepting your cousin’s invitation to join her at Mil- 
ford. Get a color or you shall certainly be packed off for 
some sea breezes to Mrs. Ford: I give you fair warning, 
mind.” 

“ And good advice too, I believe,” replied Cecil in a 
hollow tone, as she left the room leaning on Emma for 
support. 

Edward not only opened the door but drew Cecil’a dis- 
engaged arm within his, showing a brother’s kindness, 
whilst Robert stood moodily aloof and soon after set off for 
a solitary walk, choosing the least frequented paths. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


69 


CHAPTER V. 

No healthy color bloomed on Cecil’s cheek, in spite of 
warning and doctoring, and the hectic flush which some- 
times came and, went was, in Mrs. Ashton’s opinion far 
more alarming than her usual paleness; so it was agreed, 
nem con., that the invalid should proceed to Mrs. Ford’s 
under the escort of Mrs. Leir, an old friend of the family’s, 
who was to spend two days at Ashton Grove on her way to 
Muddiford. Far from objecting to this plan, Cecil only 
sought to expedite her departure, and so apparent was this 
desire that Mrs. Ashton considered it a bad symptom, as 
marking the restlessness of fever. 

Emma watched her with the anxious affection of a sister, 
trying not to see that she grew thinner and weaker; and 
determined to believe her assertions that change of air 
would soon restore her to her former health. Edward and 
his father were equally kind and caTeful, though each ac- 
cording to his character; Robert alone was fitful in his at- 
tentions: at times eager to amuse or assist her; at others 
standing aloof in moody silence, or making bitter remarks in 
seemiug jest; but as fitful was a term ever applicable to his 
quickly changing temper this conduct excited little observa- 
tion in his own family. Miss Clare was obliged to fix her 
time to suit Mrs. Leir’s convenience, and was thus com- 
pelled to remain beyond a dinner party given in honor of 
that lady — a very small one Mrs. Ashton said — only six 
of their neighbors; and she made such a point of Cecil’s 
appearing, according to a previous promise to mix more in 
society, that the grateful girl, having ascertained that these 
six consisted of the Wilders, Mrs. Praed, her niece, and an 
elderly gentleman staying with her, consented to please her 
kind hearted hostess. None of those invited were stran- 
gers, for though the state of Cecil’s health and spirits had 


70 


THE QUIET Husband. 


hitherto furnished a sufficient plea for her neither dining 
out, nor forming one in Mrs. Ashton’s large parties, she had 
seen most of the neighbors in morning visits; and those 
expected more frequently than any others from their resi- 
ding nearer. 

“ I hope you will not worry Cecil this evening,” said 
Mrs. Ashton meeting her eldest son in the passage as he 
was going to dress for dinner. “ She looks wretchedly ill; 
and is in a very delicate state.” 

“ She looks ill enough; but I might say just the same to 
you about worrying her,” replied her son who chanced to 
be in one of his worst tempers. “ You have wearied her 
and every one else talking of nothing but Viscount Fitz El- 
wyn ever since his accession to the title.” 

“ Well, it is very provoking! day after day has he been 
expected, yet is not come now.” 

“ All the better should he never come!” exclaimed her 
son. 

“ It is very tiresome, Robert, that you should have taken 
such a dislike to the viscount; and very extraordinary too.” 

“ Not at all extraordinary, my dear mother; you know 
I always hate those people you worry me about by lauding 
to the skies.” 

“ You are always so provoking, Robert. Cecil never 
cares of whom I talk; but listens with patience and good 
humor; — I wish you would take example by her.” 

“Thank you, my good mamma; but I am out of the 
nursery now, and not to be piqued into being a good boy 
through emulation, which said emulation by the way gene- 
rally degenerates into vanity on one side, and jealousy and 
dislike on the other. Moreover, I would wager my best 
hunter, and stake my talent for penetration on the fact; that 
Miss Clare, despite the gentle demeanor which you praise 
so extravagantly, has a depth of pride and passion in her 
character, which you have never fathomed.” 

“ That is just what you ssqd when she first came; yet 
from October to May I have seen no symptom of it; except 
a look indeed when I proposed her setting her cap at Mr. 
Fleetwood; and, by the bye, it is just about him that I wish 
to speak with you. I had a note from Mrs. Praed this 
morning to say that her visitor being laid up with the gout 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


71 


could not keep his engagement with me; and chancing to 
meet Mr. Fleetwood, just after, I asked him to fill the va- 
cant seat. He seemed delighted at the invitation, and pro- 
mised to come, though he only returned from abroad last 
night; and had to ride back to dress, and then come over 
eight miles.” 

“ Does Fleetwood really dine here?” questioned her son 
with animation. 

“ I have just told you so; and I want to know what to do 
about Cecil. I am afraid she will be vexed whether I tell 
her first or not, for she always looks grave when he is 
named; and Mr. Skinner said something about her having 
refused to be introduced to him at a ball at Liverpool — did 
not he? I am half sorry now that I asked him; but he seemed 
so glad to see me, that I thought I could not do less.’’ 

“ Never fret yourself about Fleetwood’s dining here, my 
dear mother; I will manage it all between him and Cecil, 
) only say nothing to her, and the blame of inviting him may 
rest on me if you choose; though she must have known 
that he would visit here on his return, as a matter of course.” 

“Yes, but poorly as she is, she may be upset at meeting 
a stranger, and one she does not fancy. Had not I better 
introduce him on his first entrance?” 

“ No, no, my dear mother; attend to your other guests, 
and leave Fleetwood and Miss Clare to me; I will manage 
it all as it should be.” 

“ Thank you, Robert, I wish you would always be so 
considerate.” 

The young man’s smile was grim as he turned away. 

“ And, Robert,” said his motlier coming a step or two 
after him, “could not you be a little more civil to Mrs, 
Praed and her niece? You know how much I esteem 
them; and yet you are sometimes absolutely rude to Miss 
Knight.” 

t “ Hang Miss Knight!” exclaimed her irritated son, slam- 
ming his bed room door behind him, and muttering as he 
did so: “I shall be obliged to marry Miss Power to esta- 
blish my right to freedom of choice. My mother will 
scallop every body’s oysters after her fashion, whereas 1 
like mine scalloped after a fashion of my own. I do believe 


72 THE QUIET HUSBAND. 

I am a very selfish person, and undutiful son,” he added 
after a pause. 

Poor Mrs. Ashton held up her hands in dismay at his 
sudden violence; then retiredfto her own room to dress, 
after changing the purple waistcoat laid out for her husband for 
a black one with a small gold sprig, an exchange which he 
either did not remark, or did not care to disturb. 

Cecil was seated in the drawing room before the arrival 
of any of the guests; and Robert secured and retained a 
station near her after all those guests save one had arrived. 
At last the door opened for the third time, and Mr. Fleet- 
wood was announced. 

Robert’s eye was on Cecil as that gentleman entered. 
She started — looked up with a flushed cheek, as if to ascer- 
tain the truth of the announcement, then down on the 

next she raised her eyes her cheek was as pale, 
if not paler than before; and her manner composed. 

“ Miss Clare, allow me to introduce Mr. Fleetwood,” 
said Robert, leading that gentleman towards her, as soon as 
he had paid his devoirs to the rest of the company. 

Cecil’s bow was coldly polite; Mr. Fleetwood’s man- 
ner, from surprise at the unexpected introduction, for he 
had understood that she never appeared but in the family 
circle, was slightly embarrassed; whilst hers was perfectly 
calm and self-possessed. By Robert’s contrivance Mr. 
Fleetwood was Cecil’s neighbor at dinner; and by his own 
choice her neighbor after dinner. If he had ever felt any 
resentment at her declining an introduction it was evident 
that such resentment was now effaced by pity for the loss 
of spirits, health, and fortune; a pity mingled with admira- 
tion for her elegant manners, and the charms that lingered 
still despite her illness. 

Robert Ashton allowed them to converse undisturbed; 
and neither guessed with what curious eyes he watched the 
progress of their acquaintance. 

“ What is this extraordinary new machine that you are 
expecting from Germany?” asked Mrs. Ashton of Captain 
Wilder, whilst the gentlemen were taking their tea. 

“A very clever, ingenious thing, my dear madam. It 
goes on two wheels and can be used by a boy. As it 


ground. 

When 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


73 


passes along, it makes a furrow, drills holes, puls in cabbage 
or celery plants, treads them round, and waters them after- 
wards; or any other part of the garden to which the spout 
may be turned.” 

“ Very clever indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton in an 
ecstacy. “ What is the name and price; and where is it to 
be procured?” 

“ It is called the Pferdknabewasserunger. The talented 
inventor is going to take out a patent in England; and the 
price I hear is to be fifteen guineas. Knowing my taste 
for mechanics. Professor Schnurpfeiferey has written to re- 
quest me to patronise it, offering to send me an engine at 
cost price.” 

“ How delightful! we shall be able to do with half tlie 
men in the garden. Furnahioass — what do you call it, 
Captain Wilder? There is no pronouncing those German 
names.” 

“ I can not well manage it myself; — ‘But what’s in a 
name?’ ” 

“ Don’t you think it could be made on a larger scale to 
answer for the farm, to plant potatoes — and — reap — and 
other things?” 

“I have not a doubt of it; and will send a hint to the in- 
ventor, Mrs. Ashton.” 

“ Tlie worst of it is, that I shall never get Flinter to use 
it; he is so obstinate: and Mr. Ashton never will interfere 
with him.” 

“So perfect a machine must overcome even his obsti- 
nacy,” remarked Robert gravely. “ But you do not seem 
to have lieard of the improvement on this invention. Be- 
sides doing all that you have said, a sort of scythe comes 
out at the sides and cuts asparagus whilst another contri- 
vance binds them up in bundles for the market; in hundreds, 
or half hundreds according as it is set.” 

“I never heard of that,” said Captain Wilder half vexed 
at another’s hearing of a new invention before himself. “At 
least I do not think it was mentioned in Professor Schnurp- 
feiferey’s letter. W’as it Helen?” he asked turning to his 
daughter, who was ostensibly looking over some prints; 
but in reality watching Mr. Edward Ashton, who was on 
VoL. I.— 7 


74 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


the opposite side of the room engaged in a seemingly inte- 
resting conversation with Miss Knight. 

“ I do not remember,” replied Helen, looking very much 
as if she had not understood the question, though she an- 
swered intelligibly, 

“ It is very odd, Helen, that you should not remember, 
when you and Edward were helping me to make out the 
plan only this morning.” 

“And it is still odder that Edward should not have said 
one word to me about it, or named his having been with 
you to-day,” remarked his mother. “But he takes after 
his father and never speaks when he can help it. What 
sort of a looking thing is this machine?” 

“ I will try and^show you; but I must call Edward to 
assist me.” 

“ I do not think Edward will thank you for so doing: he 
seems most agreeably employed just now,” observed Mrs. 
Leir, with a significant glance towards the young man, who 
was still engaged with Miss Knight. “ I see love in ihe 
bud, which will soon expand into a full blown flower, if I 
do not mistake. What say you, Mrs. Wilder?” continued 
Mrs. Leir, who liad as great a talent as Mrs. Ashton for 
discovering matches, if not for making them. 

“ It does look like it,” replied quiet, lady-like Mrs. Wil- 
der, meeting Mrs. Leir’s sly smile with involuntary gravity; 
and as involuntary a glance at her daughter, who instantly 
began a conversation with Robert, carrying it on with more 
than her usual animation and spirit, being ably seconded bv 
him; so ably as to attract the attention of the whole rooni, 
including Edward and Miss Knight, who paused for some 
moments to listen to their war of words; then, as if by mu- 
tual sympathy, sought to outdo them in lively repartee: and 
if talking fast without any very great regard to the sense of 
what they uttered would have entitled them to the prize 
they would have won it. 

“ And there seems another budding /enf/rme/” continued 
Mrs. Leir, proud of her penetration, pointing towards Mr. 
Fleetwood, who was still by Cecil’s side, doing his best to 
interest her and apparently with success; indeed, Mr. Fleet- 
wood was a young man who, if he set himself to please a 


' THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


75 


lady, which however he rarely did, could scarcely strive in 
vain. 

To a prepossessing exterior he added gentlemanly man- 
ners, a kind heart, and an intelligent and well-stored mind, 
all of which Cecil was able to appreciate. Moreover, there 
was a pointed attention and gentleness in his conduct to- 
wards her which could not fail to be flattering and touching, 
as showing his 'pity for the losses which had so worn heart 
and frame. 

“ I hope it may be so,” replied Mrs. Ashton, “ for I love 
Cecil next to ray own children. It will be an excellent 
match for her; but pray do not give her a hint on the sub- 
ject, for she is particularly sensitive to any raillery on such 
points and even a smile would make her cold and formal.” 

“ I would not say a word on any account,” said Mrs. 
Leir, with a very determined look of prudence and secrecy, 
a prudence and secrecy absolutely maintained till the mid- 
dle of her next day’s journey, when Cecil’s manner of re- 
ceiving her sly hint checked further jesting. 

“ I have the vision of a third wedding, my dear Mrs. 
Ashton. Let me congratulate you!” remarked Mrs. Leir 
later in the evening, glancing towards Robert and Miss 
Wilder who still continued talking with great animation. — 
“ What a match-making house yours is! I shall run away 
at once lest, old woman as I am, I should become entangled 
too. What do you do to persuade the young men to 
marry? — for I hear all other mammas complaining that the 
youth of the present day shun matrimony as a cat shuns wet.” 

“ I bring the young people together — let them do as they 
please — give them a little good advice; and the rest they 
manage themselves. I always looked out Miss Knight for 
Robert; and as for Edward he is so^quiet that I never count- 
ed on his falling in love; but they have settled it differently 
among themselves, and so it must be.” 

“ Three weddings will make a great bustle,” said Mrs. 
Leir. 

“ Indeed they will; and it will all fall on me, for my hus- 
band never troubles himself about any thing;” replied Mrs. 
Ashton in glee at the bare idea, though pretending to de- 
precate the fuss. 

And thus did these two ladies of active imaginations 


76 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


settle three weddings in one evening, only leaving poor 
Emma a chance of single blessedness from the simple and 
unfortunate fact of there not being any other bachelor pre- 
sent to whom they could devote her. How many of these 
anticipated weddings would really come to pass, time, and 
time only could reveal. 

“It is very tiresome that 1 cannot make out the exact 
mechanism of the Pferdknabewasserunger,” cried Captain 
Wilder in vexation, after having tried in vain to draw it for 
Mrs. Ashton’s gratification. “You must come over to 
Myrtle Lodge — I have it there; Edward drew it out for me 
this morning; and could tell me in a moment; but you 
won’t let me summon him.” 

“ I will certainly call on you to. morrow: Edward is en- 
gaged with Miss Knight at present.” 

“ Not to her, I hope; for the moment a young man gets 
love into his head there is no getting any thing else out of 
it; and I do not know what 1 shall do without Edward, he 
is such an excellent engineer and architect; and helps me 
so much in all my plans. Had I sooner found out his 
merits on these points, I think we two should have been an 
over match for the masons and made the bridge perfect at 
once.” 

“Yes, he has a great taste for architecture, and indeed 
was educated principally with a view of getting on in that 
line; but he seems more inclined to remain at home and 
do nothing. Mr. Ashton does not stir in the matter — he 
never will move in any thing; so here he sits reading or 
drawing all day long; or else lying down somewhere about 
in the woods, thinking of no earthly thing that I can make 
out.” 

“ His being in love might account for that,” observed 
Captain Wilder, but not as if pleased with the supposition. 

“ Ah! so it might: I never thought of that. Some peo- 
ple are so odd when they fall in love — I was not so.” 

“ Nor I, Mrs. Ashton; but then all have not such active 
minds. Do you know, I have just decided on changing 
the arrangement of the flower garden, and turning the gra- 
vel walk that leads by the rustic arbor.” 

“ Had not you better wait till the autumn, my dear. This 
is a bad season for moving flowers; and ours give such a 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


77 


rich promise^ of summer beauty; and the garden was so 
much admired last year,” observed his amiable, quiet wife, 
whose natural love of neatness and horror of a mess made 
her little short of a martyr to her restless husband’s taste 
for change. 

“ Do not ask me to wait, my dear; I never could wait, 
in all my life — not even for you. If your friends had per- 
sisted in their proposed delay, I do verily believe I should 
have run off with some one else.” 

“ Should you?” said his wife with a placid smile, which 
spoke her confidence in his affection. 

“ 1 dare say I should, my dear, notwithstanding your se- 
curity; at any rate, I must alter the garden at once: some 
people may have admired it, but I am no longer satisfied, 
and must make it perfection.” 

“ And then leave Myrtle Lodge as you did Sturton Pri- 
ory,” remarked his wife, though with little hope of turning 
him from his dreadful purpose. “ Alterations make such a 
litter about a house; there is no keeping any thing in order.” 

“Why, my dear, you think more of an upturned gravel 
path, than of an overturned monarchy: and I do verily be- 
lieve, if you were going to be beheaded, that your principal 
care would be about catching the blood, so that it might not 
make a mess and spoil your gown.” 

“Oh! Captain Wilder; liow can you talk of such things?’ 
exclaimed Mesdames Leir and Ashton in a breath, though 
unable to help laughing at his odd idea. 

“ My wife knows that I do not want to get rid of her; but 
I do wish she had a little more taste for improvements.” 

“ I am afraid you must put up with me as I am,” replied 
his lady with a smile so sweet, and trustful, that Captain 
Wilder admitted in his heart that it was perfect, and had no 
desire to improve it, 

“I will get the alterations finished as fast as I can — make 
as little mess as possible; and take especial care of all your 
favorite flowers, my dear. But I do not know how I shall 
get on without Edward, he is so clever with plans and expe- 
dients; and Helen is never so giddy when he is present. 
But I suppose he will be always at Ry worth now.” 

“ There is nothing settled; in fact, I had not a suspicion 
of it before this evening; and I must beg of you not to give 

7 # 


78 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


a hint till Mrs. Praed has been spoken to in pepper form,” 
said Mrs. Ashton, satisfied in her own mind that Miss 
Knight would infallibly become the wife of her second son 
at some future time; never considering that Mrs. Praed 
might not think a younger son a sufficiently good match 
for her niece, the probable heiress of many thousands. 

Mrs. Ashton, as we have already seen, was apt to jump 
at a conclusion; and being a bold and reckless jumper some- 
times overleapt the truth; no breadth, depth or height of leap 
could daunt her. 

“ Could not Robert do as well?” she suggested to con- 
sole Captain Wilder. 

“Robert! he knows nothing of architecture, and laying 
out grounds, or any thing of the sort. Then he is so odd 
that I never can tell whether he is in jest or in earnest; 
giving good advice or trying to hoax me. He may do very 
well to talk nonsense with Helen — by the way, I wonder 
what the girl has got in her head to flirt so with him this 
evening — but as for building a house, or laying out a garden, 
if his friends depended on that they would have to live in 
log huts surrounded by deserts.” 

“I dare say Edward can spare you some little time;” 
said Mrs. Ashton, anxious to propitiate Captain Wilder 
towards her eldest son through the architectural abilities of 
the younger. 

“Oh! no; pray don’t disturb him, papa; he will be much 
more pleasantly employed elsewhere; and we can get on 
very well without him,” observed Miss Wilder, who ap- 
proached at the moment, adding immediately after. — “ I 
challenge you to a game at backgammon Mr. Robert Ash- 
ton; you beat me shamefully when last we met, but I can 
play better now.” 

Thus called on, Robert could do no less than bring the 
board; but a strange smile was on his lips as he turned for 
that purpose. 

“ How did you manage to remove those large shrubs on 
your lawn, Mrs. Praed; and how did the plan succeed?” 
asked Captain Wilder. 

“The shrubs are flourishing; but as to how they were 
removed you must ask Frazer about that, for it was all his 
doing; 1 never interfere wilh him in farm or garden. — 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


79 


Having been brought up to attend to both he must be much 
better qualified for the task than I can be;” replied Mrs. 
Praed with a more lofty air than usual, not being as it 
seemed in very high good humor. 

“This may do very well for Mrs. Praed; but I am of a 
more active turn, and must always be employed,” remarked 
Captain Wilder in a low voice to Mesdames Ashton and 
Leir, shrugging his shoulders. 

“You are a sailor, and cannot bear to be idle. I never 
knew a naval man who did not like change and bustle,” 
observed Mrs. Leir. 

Captain Wilder smiled; and Mrs. Ashton fidgeted round 
to make up a whist table, which was at last accomplished; 
Mr. Ashton, who left all the arrangements to his wife, ta- 
king Mrs. Praed for his partner against Captain Wilder and 
Mrs. Leir. 

Seeing that Robert and Miss Wilder were at backgam- 
mon, which they made far more noisy than it need have 
been, Edward proposed chess to Miss Knight, who readily 
assented; but Mrs. Wilder, who looked over them for some 
time, pronounced them the most careless players she had 
ever seen, and walked away to converse with Emma. 

Mr. Fleetwood remained a fixture by Cecil: whilst Mrs. 
Ashton roamed from one to the other of her guests, inter- 
rupting all and pleasing none. 

“ Two games and a gammon, without your winning a 
single hit, I believe. Miss Wilder,” exclaimed Robert Ash- 
ton a short time before the breaking up of the whist party. 

“Yes; and I do not know which is the most intolerable, 
your luck or your ungenerous triumph,” replied that young 
lady, approaching the card players to look over her father’s 
hand. 

“ Then you allow nothing to my skill though you boasted 
of being such a superior player,” remarked Robert with a 
look, that looked very much like malicious mischief. “ For 
my part, I think I never saw you play so ill; such a wild 
reckless game; — just the play of a despairing gambler.” 

“I am always for a bold open game; no covert schemes 
for me,” replied Helen with a heightened color, keeping 
her eyes fixed on her father’s hand. 

“Ay, you are a forward player. Miss Wilder.” 


80 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Pray do not accuse my daughter of forwardness,” ex- 
claimed Captain Wilder laughing, and without looking up 
to see how his daughter bore it. 

“ Miss Wilder understands what I mean,” replied Robert 
carelessly, sauntering towards Cecil and her attendant beau. 

“ Well, Fleetwood; now that you really are come back, 
I hope you intend to remain, and enact the good old En- 
glish gentleman. The French can invent new modes and 
barricade old streets without your assistance; and your tory 
principles will prevent your joining the Carbonari, or figu- 
ring as a member of the young Germany. Neither the 
uncle Heine’s lottery, nor the nephew Heine’s constitutions, 
find favor in your sight. You intend to be a thorough John 
Bull of course; eating roast beef, instead of frogs — drinking 
Port, instead of Champagne and Hochheimer.” 

“ Not quite such a thorough John Bull as you imagine. 
The monkey who has seen the world must naturally have 
acquired some few monkey tricks,” replied Mr. Fleetwood 
gaily. 

“ Which you intend to exhibit for the benefit and amuse- 
ment of all home staying lads and lasses. It would be a 
dangerous experiment for any one else in this good tory 
county, where all changes are so especially eschewed as 
dangerous innovations; but, being the best match within its 
bounds, young, handsome, rich and accomplished, you 
will have all who desire to get themselves or their daugh- 
ters well married in your favor; and that forming a tolera- 
bly large share of our population, if any one may venture 
on such a perilous course it is you. But you ought in pru- 
dence to have tried the experiment sooner, before there was 
a young viscount to divide and share your popularity. By 
the bye, I believe you know Lord Fitz Elwyn — do you 
not?” 

“ Very slightly.” 

“ What sort of a creature is he?” 

“ A very proper youth for the army; looks well in regi- 
mentals, prates of the deeds of ancient heroes, flirts a fan, 
and waltzes to perfection.” 

“I understand; — a person to look at, but not to talk to; — 
to dance with, but not to live with: 1 suspected as much. 
A pity that he is such a near neighbor; I hate idle common- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


81 


place young men lounging in at all hours to ennuyer you 
because they are ennuye themselves.” 

“ Perhaps you may make something of him; I judge 
more from hearssy than personal knowledge. We only 
met once; and then we did not get on very well together. 
Our politics differ you know; he is a whig, and bored me 
about Greece and Italy being restored to their former splen- 
dor, when they were the first in arts and arms. Those 
Greeks and Romans were very fine fellows I dare say in 
their time; but I prefer being an Englishman in the present 
day; and as for their descendants the Italians and Philhelle- 
nes — they must be kept under with a strong hand till better 
fitted to be free.” 

“ Certainly; and the keeping them slaves in mind and 
body will enable them to appreciate and prove themselves 
worthy of the rights and privileges of freepien — when they 
get them. Pellico, Maroncelli, Gonfaloniery, and the other 
felons at Spielburg have doubtless come out far better pre- 
pared for freedom than before their incarceration,” replied 
Robert with mock gravity. 

“ No, no; I am not quite such a despot as that,” said 
Mr. Fleetwood half vexed, and half amused at the covert 
satire, which had won an approving smile from Cecil. “ I 
dare say if the poor fellows had applied to me, that I 
should have helped them out of prison, though, as you say, 
I am no favorer of the carbonari; but you never can resist 
a cut even at your best friends.” 

“ I always admired moderation in religion, -politics, and 
love” answered Robert with pretended indifference, glanc- 
ing at Cecil, who was bending over a purse on which she 
had been employed throughout the evening. “ Is it true 
that this delightful viscount is going to marry Lady Bar- 
bara Hetherton? If so, you need not fear him as a rival, 
despite waltzing, flirting, and regimentals.” 

“ Perfectly true; 1 understand the Barringhams speak 
openly on the subject. It will be a very proper match; 
she is rich and handsome, and will not overpower him 
with her superior mind.” 

“That is as it should be. People of rank and fashion 
have no need of sense; they should leave that to their 
inferiors to maintain the balance of fortune. 'Fliis wedding 


82 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


being a fact, you may give yourself as many airs as you 
please, Fleetwood; and I would advise you not to be hum- 
ble, for humility is always put upon, as I find to my cost.” 

“Thank you for the advice, and warning example” re- 
plied Mr. Fleetwood, with a smile at Robert’s oddity, which 
he had encountered often enough to understand. 

A loud laugh from Captain Wilder, echoed by one less 
loud from Mrs. Leir, drew the two young men to the whist 
table in time to hear Mrs. Praed say to her partner: — 

“ How could you possibly revoke, Mr. Ashton? Trump- 
ing with a heart when you had two clubs in your hand! 
But for that, we must have had the game.” 

“I suppose I did not see the clubs at the moment,” re- 
plied M. Ashton, as placidly as if he had played the very 
best play in the world; and was not receiving a third scold- 
ing from Mrs. Praed. 

“ People should have their eyes and their wits about 
them when they play whist; it is a fine old English game, 
and not to be rattled over like ecarte or vingt-un. I be- 
lieve this is what I owe you. Captain Wilder,” observed 
Mrs. Praed rising with a lofty air, and joining her niece. 

If Fleetwood had intended, as Robert believed, to resume 
his seat by Cecil, he was thwarted; for she had slipped 
quietly out of the room during the bustle occasioned by the 
revoke; and the guests soon after took their departure, Miss 
Wilder and Miss Knight being escorted to their respective 
carriages, by their respective beaux. 

“Miss Wilder is really a clever, spirited girl,” observed 
Robert to his brother, as they were crossing the hall to re- 
turn to the drawing room. 

“Is she?” was Edward’s brief reply. 

Robert laughed a mischievous laugh; but ssid no more. 

“ Mr. Ashton should not pretend to play whist, for he 
knows nothing of the game; and never understands when 
he has been in the wrong. He made no apology for revo- 
king, which any other gentleman would have done; but 
then he might almost as well be dumb, for he never speaks 
more than ten words throughout an evening; and his fussy 
wife lets one have no peace. She is the most unquiet per- 
son I know; can not be still — meddles and makes about 
every thing and every body. A field of wheat can not be 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


83 


sown but she must be consulted. I wonder how they ever 
keep a bailiff — always for trying some new plan. And yet 
what can she know about farming? I leave all those things 
to Frazer. It was a most intolerably stupid party,” ob- 
served Mrs. Praed as the carriage drove off, “I am tired to 
death.” 

“So I am,” joined in her yawning niece. 

“ I am glad that it is all over. I do not know when I 
have spent such a tiresome evening. It was so stupid in 
Edward sitting all the evening by Miss Knight, who re- 
quires her bigoted aunt’s fortune to make her bearable. 
She has no character; and I am sorry Edward should so 
throw himself away. I wanted to ask him several ques- 
tions about my plans; But he never came near me. It was 
very dull. Mrs. Ashton talks more than she thinks; and 
with all her wish for improving has not the sense to accom- 
plish it; and yet she was giving me advice about my bridge, 
and retailing all the ill-natured sayings about its destruc- 
tion. You and Robert seemed the only persons who en- 
joyed yourselves,” exclaimed Captain Wilder, addressing 
his daughter during their drive home. 

“Robert does very well to talk nonsense with; any thing 
to get away from his mother,” replied the young lady smo- 
thering a yawn. 

“ People may say what they will of the trouble of giv- 
ing dinners, and entertaining their guests, I find no trouble 
in either; yet my parties always go off uncommonly well; 
and my guests are all pleased,” observed Mrs. Ashton with 
considerable self complacency, as she busied herself in repla- 
cing some of the chairs, prints, and books after the depar- 
ture of her company. 

Poor woman! How great would have been her discom- 
fiture could site have overheard the remarks already related. 
Of all her guests there was not one who praised her party 
or her powers of entertaining. Yes, we are wrong; Mr. 
Fleetwood’s soliloquy as he rode home was decidedly lau- 
datory. “Very friendly of Mrs Asliton to ask me to dine 
there without ceremony; and how very kind she is to Miss 
Clare, who is far more interesting now than in the blaze of 
her beauty and prosperity. She was handsomer then; her 
form more rounded, her complexion more brilliant: — then 


84 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


she dazzled with her loveliness — now her look of suffering 
— her downcast eyes, and fragile figure ask and command 
your pity and protection; — before she received homage as 
her due, or as if unconscious of its worth — now she is 
grateful for attention, yet as far from seeking it as ever, and 
would not unsought be won. They are kind and worthy 
people those Ashtons; the father regards her with quite a 
parental air — the mother is occupied with plans for resto- 
ring her to health — the pretty Emma looks prettier still 
when praising her friend — Edward is always ready to place 
her a chair, or a footstool; and Robert — by the way, I 
wonder how he could have spent all the winter in her soci- 
ety and not have become attached to her; yet he introduced 
me immediately — promoted our being together, and has in- 
vited me to ride over to-morrow to see his hunter. He is 
a good fellow, though sometimes wilful. And all this kind- 
ness to a penniless girl. But then such a girl! I admired 
her at Liverpool — I love; — no, not love her on a first in- 
troduction, that is far too romantic and foolish — I pity her; 
— and no one has a right to control my actions.” 

So ended Mr. Fleetwood’s soliloquy. People talk non- 
sense to themselves sometimes as well as to others. Let 
who will call them to account for the same. 

“ What was that about Mr. Fleetwood’s riding over to- 
morrow?” asked Mrs. Ashton of her eldest son, as they 
were ascending the stairs to their rooms. 

“He is to come over and see my hunter.” 

“Does he know that Cecil goes early?” 

“ I did not ask him. Good night,” replied Robert turn- 
ing into his own apartment. “ I am sure he does not from 
the sparkling of his eye when I gave the invitation,” said 
this same Robert to himself, as he placed his candle on 
the dressing table, and stood opposite the glass but without 
remarking one single trait of the face so strongly reflected 
in it. “ Now would 1 consent to be talked to by my mo- 
ther a whole month without cessation, if I could by such a 
penance learn what were Cecil’s feelings throughout this 
evening. I could not have been mistaken in her start and 
blush when Fleetwood was announced; and yet she received 
him when introduced with the most perfect composure. 
Skinner declares that Fleetwood never spoke to her at Liver- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


85 


pool — that they did not even stand in the same quadrille; 
and that nothing passed between them, but her declining an 
introduction; and yet she always looks embarrassed when 
he IS named. Is it only that she feels so keenly the diffe- 
rence of her present position in society, and stands rebuked 
for her pride? Why did she leave the room this evening 
so abruptly? And why was her face bent so lowly above 
her work? Was she only tired, as she whispered to Em- 
ma? I guess a mystery, which I will read let it bring weal 
or woe. She has an intensity of feeling rarely surpassed^ 
and an almost equal power of controlling its display; but 
I am not to be baffled. They call her sweet and gentle;— 
and so she is in the every day affairs of life; but There is a 
strength and force in her character which my gossipping 
mother and loving sister have not discovered; she is grate- 
ful and affectionate to both, but she keeps her most precious 
thoughts to herself. They may be contented to praise her 
smile — I will read her heart. And what for? — I am a fool!” 
lie exclaimed the following instant, catching the expression 
of his own features in the glass before which he had un- 
consciously continued standing. 

Well might he be startled at that reflection; a physiogno- 
mist might have read his heart in the wild and troubled ex- 
pression of those moveable features, as clearly as he sought 
to read the heart of Cecil. And what a heart! so full of strange 
and contradictory emotions. Of love and hate — of jea- 
lousy and trust — of high and generous impulses — of mean 
ungenerous plans. No wonder that his manner was so 
fitful and unaccountable! He was the slave of the mo- 
ment’s fancy; with mental powers that made him restless 
in his idleness; and yet without the resolution to tax those 
powers for the good of others or himself. 

“Yes, I certainly am a fool!” he repeated “ and a flirt 
too, the world asserts. Query, is there any difference be- 
tw'een them; and if so in what does it consist? Let me 
see; — a fool need not be a flirt; but a flirt must be a fool. 
Is that it? I am not quite sure but am too sleepy to discuss 
the question philosophically; so good night, Mr. Fool; and 
I wish you pleasant dreams.” 

And we echo his wish, holding a pleasant dream one of 
the most delightful things in this troublous life. 

VoL. L— 8 


86 


THE QUIET HUSBANDa 


CHAPTER VI. 

“Remember, my dear Cecil, that if you should not find 
yourself comfortable at the Fords, or the sea air should not 
agree with you, we shall be delighted to see you back at 
Ashton Grove. This is your home, mind,” said Mrs. Ash- 
ton as she folded a shawl round her departing guest. 

“ Yes, my child; you will always find a welcome here,” 
repeated Mr. Ashton. 

“ Do come back soon; for I do not know what we shall 
do without you. I could almost wish that the Fords should 
prove very disagreeable,” exclaimed the affectionate Emma, 
throwing her arms round her neck; “ I have learnt to love 
you so very much.” 

“ You are all kind — too kind,” replied poor Cecil, re- 
turning Emma’s embrace, and vainly endeavoring to speak 
her thanks. 

“ I should like to know how Cecil is ever to get well if 
you upset her with your nonsense, Emma,” said Mrs. Ash- 
ton, drawing her daughter away. “ One would think she 
was going for years, instead of only a month or six weeks 
at the most; we cannot part with her longer.” 

“ Good bye, Cecil; I have put you up a choice collection 
of books; and shall long for your return that we may talk 
them over; but then you must return quite strong and 
well,” said Edward, taking a brotherly leave of her. 

The whispered reply of the invalid made him step back 
with a blush. Edward generally called her Cecil — Robert 
rarely, if ever. 

“ Good bye. Miss; and I hope you will come back as red 
as a poppy,” said honest Flinter, who had always taken a 
great interest in Cecil from her first arrival, either from her 
own winning kindness, or the regard shown for her by his 
master. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


87 


“ Thank you, Flinter; and I hope there will be no pop- 
ples in your fields to compare with my cheeks,” replied 
Cecil kindly. 

“ Oh! I don’t mind a few poppies. Miss; they looks 
pretty among the corn; and there is an old saying — no 
weeds, no grain.” 

“ Good bye,” said Robert; my best wishes attend you. 
A parting like an amnesty buries all faults in oblivion — does 
it not?” 

“ Certainly: in absence we think only of the good quali- 
ties of those whom we have left,” replied Cecil warmly, 
touched by the earnestness of his appeal. 

“If I should never return to Ashton Grove — if I should 
see none of you again, to thank you for all this kindness, 
remember that my last earthly thoughts, and prayers will 
be for you and yours, dear Emma,” whispered Cecil, bend- 
ing from the carriage to take a last farewell of her affection- 
ate friend, after Mrs. Leir and all her packages were finally 
arranged, then throwing herself back she motioned the ser- 
vant to close the door. 

The door was closed, and the carriage drove off amid the 
reiterated injunctions of Mrs. Ashton to be careful of her- 
self and not to catch cold, &c., &c.; whilst Cecil once more 
leaning forward waved a last adieu to those who had so 
anxiously sought to restore her health, and promote her 
happiness. 

“ What makes you so pale, Emma? What did Cecil 
say?” asked Mrs. Ashton of her daughter, who, shocked at 
her friend’s parting whisper, continued staring after the fast 
receding carriage. 

Roused by the question she repeated Cecil’s words. 

“ Bless me! is she really so ill? We must have better 
advice — we must take her up to town directly,” exclaimed 
the warm hearted Mrs. Ashton, glancing at her husband, 
then running forward some steps as if to stop the travellers, 
who were already nearly out of sight. “ There can be no 
real cause for alarm,” she added after the pause of a few 
moments: “ Cecil is very delicate, but in no danger; it is 
only a sick girl’s fancy — fresh air and new scenes and faces 
w'ill soon set her up again; she has moped herself too much 
throughout the winter — that is all.” 


88 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ You do not know Cecil Clare,” observed Robert in a 
tone that surprised his hearers. 

“ And whal more do you know of her?” asked his mother 
rather sharply. 

“ Nothing,” replied Robert walking away to avoid fur- 
ther queries. 

Mrs. Leir if not a talented was a kind hearted woman; 
and took good care of her charge; — not travelling too far in 
the day — wrapping her up warm — and amusing her by 
pointing out every object worthy of notice as Mrs. Ashton 
had advised, so that Cecil when she arrived at Muddiford, 
where she found the Fords’ carriage ready to take her on to 
Milford, was certainly looking considerably better than on 
her departure from Ashton Grove. 

Bidding Mrs. I^eir farewell with many thanks for her 
care, Cecil entered her cousin’s Britzcha, and it being that 
dusky, dreamy light which wooes to thought — the very at- 
mosphere of memory — the traveller was driven to look into 
her own mind, instead of out on the objects, which she 
passed on her route. 

She had been very anxious to leave Ashton Grove, not- 
withstanding the affection of all its inmates; with the rest- 
lessness generally attendant on suffering, she longed for 
change; but now that change was come, she half regretted 
her departure, and sighed as she thought of the friendly 
group that had bade her farewell a few mornings since, each 
intimating a wish for her speedy return. Her anxiety to 
leave them seemed something like ingratitude; but she was 
not ungrateful; — oh, no! It was better that she should not 
remain at Ashton Grove — much better: and she meant to 
return, if she ever returned, with the poppies on her cheek 
of which Flinter had spoken; and a cheerfulness that would 
cast no gloom over their fire side. 

Return! — should she ever return? The solution of the 
question rested with the future; and she resolutely turned 
her thoughts to other subjects. 

Cecil’s mind was stronger than the frame in which it 
dwelt: and yet it prayed upon that frame rendering it weak- 
er but this was not to be permitted unrebuked. Her se- 
vere and sudden losses — her delicate health, and the months 
spent in retirement had strongly impressed on her mind the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


instability of human life, and human happiness; suffering 
had been a bitter but a useful medicine, bringing to the mind 
a more healthful tone, though it left a paleness on her cheek. 
In her prosperity young, rich, and beautiful; courted, fol- 
lowed, flattered; — in the full flow of youthful spirits, she 
had never dreamt of suffering, but thought to pass through 
life sportive and happy — a flower flung upon the stream of 
fortune, borne by the current between lovely banks into a 
peaceful haven, without an effort of her own; and though 
naturally endowed with strong and generous affections, w’ith 
gentle pity, and with noble sympathies; yet still, unknown 
to herself (for she knew little then of the heart’s deceiiful- 
ness) pride and presumption had mingled with her higher 
qualities, marring the beauty of her character. In her 
poverty she had better learned to know herself, her duties 
and her faults. She no longer considered happiness as 
hers of right; and if she still wept when sorrow came, it 
was in sadness and submission, not in rebellious passion. 
She had looked more narrowly into the situation of those 
around her; no longer a spoilt child and flattered heiress, 
she now saw herself but a unit in one mighty total; and 
instead of expecting that all should run according to her 
pleasure (she standing above grief the while, untouched by 
suffering) she admitted that her fate must be twined in with 
that of others; — millions of atoms blending in one gigantic 
whole — none holding on its course alone; but each and all 
tending to one end; — on earth the grave — beyond an immor- 
tality of bliss or woe. She was no longer an object of 
envy, above the pity of those around her; she had suffered 
— had needed that pity; and had found it. The lot of man 
was suffering; and as she had met with pity; so must she 
pity others. She had no right to withdraw from the active 
duties of life and pine away in lonely misery, because the 
golden visions of her youth had all departed. She had no 
riffhi to yield to grief unchecked; she felt with the noble 
EUiot “ that sorrow was selfish,” if it rendered her less 
willing, or less able to succor others; selfish to man, ungrate- 
ful to her maker. She was not placed on earth only to eat, 
and drink, and sleep, and sport away a life, as insects sport 
away a sunny hour; she had higher powers — was called to 

8 * 


60 THE QUIET HUSBAND. 

higher duties; — she had comparatively little left — but that 
little must not be wasted in impotent repining. 

Such were the lessons taught to Cecil by her losses; but 
as yet she had not learnt them fully; she felt their wisdom, 
but they were not always the rule of her actions, and at 
times she would long with a wild and passionate longing to 
be with those who had gone before — to rest in the silent 
grave where sorrow was not known; and then she would 
bow her head in shame at this impatience at her lot, a lot 
still so full of blessings. She had friends — kind, constant 
friends; — she had youth and talents; and health might be 
restored: — she was not pinched with hunger — she was not 
starved with cold; — she thought of the shivering wretches 
whom she had seen homely, friendless; wanderers on the 
earth, with none to smile upon them — none to cheer; and 
tears, large tears of penitence rolled down her cheeks, at 
the remembrance of her own sinful discontent; and yet — 
and yet — such is the weakness of our human nature, the 
next half hour her blessings were well nigh forgotten — her 
woes alone remembered. Her heart was not yet strictly 
disciplined; it had much yet to learn and bear, ere it could 
say in full sincerity — “ Thy will be done.’* 

Mrs. Ford was a second cousin of the late Mr. Clare, 
(a relationship of which she had boasted in his prosperity,) 
but Cecil had never seen her since she was nine years old, 
when Mrs. Ford had spent a week at her fiither’s splendid 
mansion in the environs of Liverpool. At that age she 
could not be expected to form a very accurate judgment of 
character; but all she remembred of the lady and her two 
daughters, who were a little older than herself, was highly 

pleasing. Mrs. Ford had brought her toys and bon bons 

Mrs. Ford had praised her more extravagantly than she was 
in the habit of hearing herself praised by other ladies, to 
the regret of poor Mrs. Clare, who did her best to save her 
child from the intoxicating tones of flattery; — Mrs. Ford 
had made her own children give up to her in every thing; 
and finally, Mrs. Ford had insisted that she should here- 
after marry her eldest son, who she declared had, at the age 
of eleven, conceived an unchangeable affection for his cou- 
sin of nine. This last did not speak very highly in favor 
of Mrs. Ford’s sense; and the same might be said of the 


THE QUIET HUSCAND. 


91 


Ollier particulars, which recurred to Cecil’s memory; but 
her invitation had been kindly worded, and was the only 
notice she had received from former friends or relatives; no 
wonder therefore that the invalid, who had sighed for 
change of air and scene, was under such circumstances in- 
clined to judge gratefully instead of critically. 

The Fords had only returned, a few months before, from 
a long residence in Newfoundland, where Mr. Ford had 
held an appointment under government; which accounted 
for Cecil’s not having seen them since her childhood; but 
she knew that they had corresponded with her father, though 
his dislike to writing, except on business, had made his an- 
swers brief and rare. The two eldest daughters Ann and 
Susan, as well as the precocious lover, Beckington Ford, 
had been left in England with their grandmother for educa- 
tion, whilst the two younger girls had accompanied their 
parents. 

Cecil only remembered Mr. Ford as a heavy, but then 
rather good looking man, who agreed to all her father’s 
propositions, and praised all in and about the house, parti- 
cularly the wines and viands, of which he partook in con- 
siderable quantities, of course to qualify himself the better 
to give Judgment thereon. She did not expect to find a su- 
perlative degree of talent in any of the family — she only 
desired kindness; and that she could not fail of meeting, 
else why had she been invited, and invited so warmly, when 
nothing could be obtained from her in return? 

It may be as well to inform our readers, lest any one 
should be ignorant of the fact, that the pretty village of Mil- 
ford is situated on the Hampshire coast about four miles 
from Lyminglon; and nearly opposite the Needles, which, 
with the open sea to the right, and the lofty cliffs of Alum 
Bay on the left, form a striking view as seen from the beach, 
or the high land above. The sands are narrow, but firm; 
bounded and edged by earthy cliffs and abounding in geo- 
logical specimens of an antediluvian world. At low water, 
you may ride along the beach to the west till you reach the 
more fashionable bathing village of Muddiford, about two 
miles from Christchurch; whilst, towards the east, runs a 
high shingly bank, at the point of which stands Hurst 
Castle, a low, fortified building, where the unhappy Charles 


92 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


was confined for a short time, after quitting Carisbrook; 
and in which his chamber is still shown. Stretching back 
from this point towards the land, extends a considerable 
area of mud and sea, denominated the back water, termina- 
ting in a landing place at Key Haven; where the pleasure 
seekers of Milford generally embark on their water excur- 
sions, as the sea usually rolls in on the open beach with a 
considerable surf, which, though not dangerous, renders an 
embarkation thence unpleasant and difficult for ladies. — 
Round the castle stand some detached buildings principally 
destined to the use of the men stationed there on the pre- 
ventive service; with a lighthouse, a tall breakwater; and 
a square enclosure for a garden, fenced with a low stone 
wall, from which waves the graceful tamarisk, bowing to 
the breeze as it sweeps over the neck of land, then rising 
again, its flexile branches all uninjured by its lowly bending. 
Oakfield Villa where Mrs. Ford resided was a new erec- 
tion on the high ground between Milford and the little 
church at Hurdle, lying further to the west; and though its 
garden and shrubbery were still in their infancy, they were 
prettily laid out, and on a bright May day gave a fair pro- 
mise of future beauty; but it was too dark when Cecil arri- 
ved for her to see any of the perfections of Oakfield Villa; — 
its well laid out grounds, or the fine sea view commanded 
by its windows. 

Mrs. Ford came forward to receive her young cousin 
with friendly warmth — Mr. Ford laid down his magazine 
(the deepest study he ever engaged in) to say that he was 
glad to see her, and hoped she was well; and the two el- 
dest daughters, who were out, stopped practising some 
Italian music, to make what they considered graceful cour- 
tesies; whilst the two young ladies, who were not out, a 
tall gawky girl of fifteen, and a short awkward roily polly 
one of eleven, after looking first at their visitor, and then at 
each other, burst into a giggle, unnoticed, or at least unre- 
buked by their parents. 

“You are tired, my dear; a little tea will refresh you: 
we only waited till you came. Lotty, my love, ring' the 
bell,” said Mrs. Ford; and the roily polly obeyed, tittering 
all the way she went. 

Tea was soon over, though it had seemed long to poor 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


03 


Cecil, and very different from the gay, social meal at Ash- 
ton Grove; and Mrs. Ford having exhausted all the ques- 
tions she could think of to put to her visitor, finding the 
task of entertaining heavy, as no one aided her, proposed 
her guest’s retiring, in the supposition that she must be 
fatigued after her journey; and Cecil, wishing to be alone, 
gladly caught at the idea. 

“ Your room is rather high up, my dear; but I thought 
you would like a view of the sea, and the other apartments 
will all be occupied next week, for I am expecting the Hat- 
tons: and being a first visit we must pay them more than 
common civility; particularly as Beckington is shortly to be 
united to the eldest daughter,” said Mrs. Ford, as she mar- 
shalled Cecil to her chamber, which was neither more nor 
less than a garret. 

“ Here go my consequence and destined husband at once! 
So much for the unchangeable love of eleven, evidenced by 
a locket, containing his hair, which I was compelled to pro- 
mise never to part with,” thought Cecil after a smile, and 
without a pang too. She did not fancy Mr. Beckington 
Ford for a husband! and had no desire to be made of con- 
sequence, that is made a fuss with, as in former days; and 
she really did wish a view of the sea, which last she assert- 
ed with ready politeness to prevent further apologies; had 
she known how few apologies were intended she might 
not have been so scrupulously civil. 

Mrs. Ford hurried over the usual inquiries as to whether 
she needed this, that, or the other; ascertained that her 
trunks had been brought up; and then wishing her good 
night and a refreshing sleep hastened away, glad to escape 
from the little garret, which felt cold and cheerless, notwith- 
standing the fire which Cecil, by Mrs. Ashton’s directions, 
had requested, or rather the embers of a fire, for there w^as 
nothing more. 

The weather was cold for the season; and Cecil rang the 
bell for some more coals; but the bell remained unanswered 
though she rang a second time; so trusting to have every 
discomfort remedied on the morrow, she betook herself to 
bed, and soothed by the murmur of the tide which reached 
her through the stilly night sank into a tranquil slumber. 
The sun was shining in at her window, and thousands of 


94 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


motes were playing in its rays, when she awoke on the 
following morning. For awhile she stood admiring the 
blue expanse before her, its waves, crested with foam, riding 
in towards the land from the south; and bounded on the 
east by the rocks called the Needles, standing boldly out 
against the clear gray sky behind; and flanked by the pre- 
cipitous cliff’s of Alum Bay of snowy whiteness, that glit- 
tered in the summer sun. But bright as was the sun it did 
not warm her little room; and when Cecil looked round on 
its mean and scanty furniture, a doubt of her cousin’s kind 
intentions flashed across her; but she dismissed it on the 
instant: — there was presumptive proof of that kindness. 
What could have induced her pressing invitation but friendly 
motives? — She was too critical — she had been petted by her 
parents — and petted by the Ashtons, who had been so anx- 
ious to prevent her feeling the loss of wealth and relatives 
— she had been spoilt; and must bear the penalty: she must 
no longer expect to be petted, but learn to bear the rubs 
of every day life, not pining for delicate sympathy, but 
grateful for commonplace kindness. She was too sensi- 
tive* and must control her imagination, and check its idle 
whims and fancies. 

Her room was very small, with a very low ceiling, 
though in a very high situation; the dingy colored walls 
looked suspicious of damp; — the bed was not very luxuri- 
ous — the chairs and table of a very country make; and the 
window so badly constructed as to admit the wind all round, 
if not all through; and the whole aspect of the apartment, 
save just when the sun was shining in, was chill and deso- 
late; yet still Mrs. Ford could mean her nothing but kind- 
ness; and a word of her delicate health, and chilly nature 
would suffice to remedy every discomfort; and the view 
might reconcile her to mounting three pair of stairs, and 
some other minor disagreeables. She looked out once 
more on; — 


“ The sea! the sea! the open sea! 

The ever fresh — the ever free.” 

and again the murmur of the incoming tide came on her 
ear with the lulling power of peace and hope; and this 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


95 


hopeful spirit did not desert her, though it required a third 
ring of her bell to procure the attendance of the maid, who 
looked sulky at the summons; and half impertinent at the 
request to keep a better fire, as not being accustomed to the 
sea breezes, Cecil found it cold and damp. 

“ Good morning, you are an early riser, I see.” said Mrs. 
Ford on entering the room where her young cousin had 
been sitting alone for more than an hour, waiting the assem- 
bling of the family, for their morning’s meal. 

“Not very early to-day; for it was half past nine when 
I came down,” replied the half famished Cecil, glancing at 
a time piece which stood at half past ten. 

“ It is a very good habit to rise early; and another morn- 
ing you shall not have to wait so long for your breakfast, 
but take that meal with Jemima and Lotty; both myself 
and the dear girls are delicate, which compels us to a little 
self-indulgence in this matter.” 

“ I am sorry to hear that you and my cousins are inva- 
lids; I had no idea of such being the case,” remarked Ce- 
cil with a properly sympathetic tone as she believed, though 
conscious of a feeling of surprise at the information; for the 
whole family looked full of health and vigor. 

“You judge from appearances, which are often deceit- 
ful,” observed Mrs. Ford with a little acidity. 

“I am afraid they are indeed,” thought her cousin; but 
as she made no reply, Mrs. Ford continued. 

“ I hope you slept well; though I need hardly ask, for 
you look quite a different creature this morning; restored 
to perfect health only by one night of our sea air.” 

“ You forget that appearances are so often deceitful; and 
most assuredly so in this instance; for the fresh sea air so 
invigorating to those in health is too keen for my weakened 
frame; and I have been petted and kept so warm that my 
room felt cold. I have requested the servant to give me a 
little more fire to night; and I fear I must take a lesson in 
ringing your bells; for I can make no one hear me,” said 
Cecil, stating all her discomforts in a playful tone not to 
offend her hostess; but her hostess did not understand play- 
fulness; and looked both surprised and annoyed at the re- 
mark about appearances being deceitful; and still blacker at 
the complaint of the mean fire, to hide which annoyance 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


and prevent further complaints she assumed a lofty and ad- 
vising air, intended to put down her cousin, and awe her 
into silence for the future. 

“You must learn to inure yourself to cold, my dear; I 
see plainly that you require bracing, and a fire in your bed- 
room, particularly at this season of the year, is one of the 
most relaxing things I know; — my girls have no fire. As 
for the bells, they are particularly well hung; but the ser- 
vants are much engaged in the morning; for I can not afford 
with my family to keep idle domestics. The lady’s maid 
is of course occupied with me, and my daughters; but I 
will tell the under housemaid to attend to your bell. I 
thought you had learnt to dress yourself; or would have 
given orders last night.” 

“ I desire nothing but to have my gown fastened,” an- 
swered Cecil, hurt at these remarks. 

“ I am glad you can do something for yourself; young 
people should always be brought up independent of ser- 
vants, particularly daughters of bankers and merchants; for 
there is no knowing what they may come to. I am sure I 
never guessed that all your father’s splendor was only 
empty show.” 

“ My father, madam, suffered from false friends, and dis- 
honest agents.” 

“ Very right for you to say so, my dear; but you know 
nothing of business,” observed Mrs. Ford interrupting her 
guest. “ Will you have bread or toast?” she asked hand- 
ing her at the same time a cup of tea, too weak to injure 
her nerves. 

“ Thank you; dry toast, and a cup of chocolate,” re- 
plied Cecil, putting back the tea. 

“ I do not think chocolate a proper thing for you; but as 
you may be fatigued after your journey, 1 shall not forbid 
it this morning,” said Mrs. Ford evidently displeased at 
her cousin’s presuming to have a choice. 

“ I was ordered chocolate by my medical attendant, and 
promised Mrs. Ashton to continue using it,” observed Cecil 
firmly, beginning to see the necessity of insisting on those 
luxuries, which her late illness had rendered needfuK 

“ Mrs. Ashton is considered a fidget and a coddle; I 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


97 


must take you in hand I see; and trv a totally different 
plan.” 

“ Mrs, Ashton is a most estimable woman! — -a warm 
friend and attentive nurse,” replied Cecil with a spirit 
wliich checked any further comment from Mrs, Ford. 

'J'he youngs ladies soon after made their appearance, and~ 
in due, or undue time, Mr. Ford himself, unshoed, uncra- 
vated, in dressing gown and slippers. There was little 
talking at breakfast — no conversation; but Cecil’s decision, 
though quick, was correct, when she set down Mr. Ford as 
a selfish, sycophantic gourmand; and his daughters as silly, 
missy girls with some accomplishments, but little real 
knowledge, and whose sole ambition was to be married — 
well, if their parents could manage it; — but at any rate to 
be married. 

“ I must pay some visits this morning; and it is already 
late 1 see. Will you come into the school-room my dear; 
and help me hear Jemima and Lotty their lessons?” said 
Mrs. Ford to her cousin on the conclusion of breakfast. 

“ With great pleasure:” replied Cecil good-naturedly. 

The school-room was a dull apartment at the back of the 
house, with a scanty supply of tables and chairs; an old 
piano, on which Jemima was strumming, an hour-glass on 
the mantel-piece; and three half-filled book shelves on the 
opposite wall. 

“ Now, Lotty, my dear, your cousin will be kind enough 
to hear your French lesson; and you must do your best to 
bring no discredit on my teaching. I have been their sole 
instructress, Cecil, so you must make allowances.” 

“ You forget Miss jaffer, mamma,” said Jemima. 

“ Oh! poor thing; a daily governess that we took out of 
charity at Newfoundland,” replied Mrs. Ford. 

Lotty looked half inclined to refuse saying her lesson to 
her new cousin; but Cecil’s encouraging manner overcame 
her awkward shyness; and the task was repeated, though 
very incorrectly, and evidently without being understood by 
the repeater. To this succeeded history, geography, and a 
music lesson to Jemima; Mrs. Ford, who fidgeted in and 
out of the room to give orders, and dress for her visits, tak- 
ing no further part in the morning’s instructions than keep- 
VoL. L— 9 


98 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ing Cecil fully employed till the children’s dinner was 
placed on the table. 

“ The girls get on uncommonly well with you,” re- 
marked Mrs. Ford, though Jemima had been exceedingly 
troublesome, and provoking; “ and as a reward for their 
attention, shall have the pleasure of accompanying you to 
the sands, and picking up sea-weed; a few walks on the 
beach will restore you to perfect health. I have arranged 
for your dining with the girls, an early dinner being so 
essential for an invalid; and you will thus avoid encoun- 
tering strangers, which, under present circumstances, you 
would find unpleasant.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Ford; but I cannot think of this. I 
have not been in the habit of dining early, and have pro- 
mised Mrs. Ashton not to shun society.” 

“Mrs. Ashton may arrange matters as she chooses in 
her own house my dear; but I rule here. If hungry, you 
can have a little pudding, or a sandwich when we dine; but 
you must make your real dinner now; early hours are con- 
ducive to health; and I have set my heart on seeing you 
with a milkmaid’s color, I only wish the customs of fash- 
ionable society would allow me to dine at the same time. 
Mr. Ford and myself never decide on any thing without 
due consideration; but once decided, nothing can turn us. 
Our will is law in this house: — is it not Jemima?” 

“ Not when I can help it,” replied Jemima, pertly; and 
her mother, laughing at her impertinence, left the room as 
if determined to listen to no remonstrances from Cecil; nor 
did she again return, only sending a request by her eldest 
daughter that her cousin would give Lotty a music lesson 
after their walk. 

What could all this mean? Did Mrs. Ford intend her to 
play governess to her ignorant, tiresome, younger daugh- 
ters, believing that she had no friends to interfere in her 
behalf, and hoping to obtain her services at a cheap rate? 

If such was her suspicion on the first day of her arrival, 
it was converted into a certainty ere the close of the week, 
when she overheard Jemima reply to some question put to 
her by a gentleman whom they encountered on the sands — 
“Oh don’t you know? That is our new governess — mam- 
ma’s poor cousin, whom she takes out of pity.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


99 


Prom the moment of her entrance into the family the 
conduct pursued towards her liad been perfectly consistent, 
supposing such to be their intentions; no other views could 
satisfactorily account for their behaviour. The word go- 
verness had never been named, but the whole of its duties 
had been skilfully laid upon her; accidentally as it were — 
purely as an appeal to her good nature; whilst from a real 
or pretended care for her health she was deprived of most 
of her accustomed comforts, and banished from the draw- 
ing room, except for an hour or two in the evening when 
the Fords were alone; or when her assistance was required 
by the elder girls in their music or singing, Cecil being far 
their superior in both. 

Where were the hopeful visions that had cheered her on 
that bright May morning? Gone! — “ Nor left e’en the 
wreck of a name.” The truth could be no longer con- 
cealed. Mrs. Ford was not kind; and Cecil Clare was de 
facto^ if not de jure^ a governess; and that too without her 
consent — it might almost be said without her knowledge. 
Thus had her good natured wish to oblige been turned to 
her own detriment. The indignant blood rushed up to 
her very brow, as she thought of the daily slights, not to 
say insults, to which she was subjected from the selfish, 
pompous Mr. Ford, the as cold and selfish Mrs. Ford, her 
missy, troublesome daughters; and the fine lady’s maid, 
down to the very scullion, who grumbled at having an ad- 
ditional plate to wash — for where are the servants that do 
not take the tone of their masters and mistresses towards 
companions and governesses? 

Had she encountered Mrs. Ford at the moment that lady 
might have been roused by her look alone out of her habi- 
tual chilling self-possession; but it was nearly an hour’s 
walk to Oakfield Villa, and by the time she reached the 
gates her indignation had a little subsided; and she deter- 
mined to consider ere she acted. And as she lay on her 
little bed that night, with the pale moon streaming in upon 
her, she weighed the pros and cons with a fairness and 
judgment that would not have disgraced a philosopher. 

A year back and she would have acted from the quick 
impulse of wounded pride and feeling, but suffering, as we 
have already said, had somewhat tamed the pride engende- 
red by prosperity; and she had better learned to take the 


100 


THE auiET HUSBAND. 


evil with the good. Affection or even kindness from any 
of her elder cousins was no longer to be hoped for; the good 
tempered Lotty alone appeared to feel the slightest interest 
in her comfort; but still there were reasons that made her 
hesitate ere she decided on a strong remonstrance, and pro- 
bable consequent departure. 

She would have stated her difficulties to kind Mrs. Leir, 
who had invited her to spend some days with her at Muddi- 
ford, but that lady had just written to say that she was go- 
ing into Devonshire to attend a wedding, so that her only 
alternatives were Oakfield Villa, or Ashton Grove. Jemi- 
ma was idle, illtempered, ignorant and provoking: — Lotty, 
though more willing, was also more stupid: — the rest of the 
family any thing but what she liked — her situation awk- 
ward — her comforts few — her discomforts many; but to 
set against all this was the fact that, despite these disagree- 
ables, her health had visibly improved, the air evidently 
agreeing with her; and however great her dislike to teach- 
ing wilful and stupid girls she had the judgment to see that 
this enforced occupation of the mind, if not pleasant, was 
wholesome. Her banishment from the drawing room under 
many a plausible pretext, though it deprived her of the plea- 
sure which she might have derived from the pleasant soci- 
ety ill the neighborhood, saved her from the penalty of the 
society within the house; and reading was in her opinion a far 
more agreeable occupation than listening to the pompous 
declamations of Mr. Ford — the cold sarcasms of his lady, 
or the silly babbling of her daughters. 

Cecil was not blind to the slights and vexations which 
she had already encountered, or would hereafter have to 
encounter; she saw them all, and had resolution equal to 
her penetration; but health was a great blessing — it was a 
long journey back to Ashton Grove; — and so — and so — 
she decided on remaining for a time at Oakfield Villa, giv- 
ing moderate instructions to the hopeful Jemima and Lotty, 
and keeping herself to herself; but assuming such an air, 
and acting so independently on all other points as to con- 
vince Mrs. Ford that she yielded for her own pleasure, not 
from being too timid to remonstrate; and that she was not 
a person to be insulted with impunity. To avoid contention 
she submitted in silence to many deprivations, and bore with 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


101 


admirable temper the provocations received from the selfish 
and penurious Mrs. Ford, and the irritating Jemima, who, 
longing for emancipation from the school room, purposely 
gave her instructress every possible annoyance. 

Thus matters went on for three weeks; the name of go- 
verness never uttered, and Cecil permitted to spend her 
lime, when not teaching, just as slie pleased. Mrs. Ford 
understanding from her manner that further demands, or 
more determined slights would deprive her children of an 
able instructress. In spite of the coldness of her temper, 
which was rarely hurried into an ebullition of passion, the 
lady of the mansion felt irritated at the bar placed on her 
employment of the whole of her poor cousin’s time, but 
prudence required forbearance for awhile; and her vexed 
selfishness yielded to present necessity; — hereafter she 
might make Cecil more of a drudge — and then she should 
feel her power; and yet there were moments when she 
doubted whether such a period would ever arrive. 

And how had all the vexations of these three weeks been 
borne by Cecil? Admirably — most admirably ! with the calm 
dignity of one resolved by constant vigilance to rule her 
heart to bear its lot, however hard that lot might be. And 
yet they had been wretched weeks, unsoothed by friendly 
sympathy. She had no earthly aid to support her in her 
trials; yet she yielded not, so the body gathered strength 
from the mind’s vigor; and when at times the heart was 
w'ell nigh sinking beneath its secret sorrow, she would think 
what others were enduring round her, and bending humbly 
before her maker would pray for strength to uphold her. — 
Yet with all her resolutions to be not only contented but 
thankful, there were moments when she sighed to be back 
at Ashton Grove, among its kind and affectionate inmates — 
that very Ashton Grove which she had before so longed to 
leave. Such is the restlessness of suffering — such the in- 
consistency of human wishes. She had received three af- 
fectionate letters from Emma, each closed by a long post- 
script from Mrs. Ashton, containing wishes for her return, 
with sundry directions as to wraps, diet, <fec. &c. (none of 
which Cecil could follow) and terminating with some pet 
piece of news; and as the arrival of the family at Lindmoor 
had been her greatest anxiety ever since the death of the 

9 * 


102 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


late Earl she deplored in every postscript the non appear- 
ance of the viscount who was still however, according to 
report, expected every day; whilst fully as regular were 
her assurances that Mr. Fleetwood made many inquiries 
after her health. 

In replying to these letters Cecil had declared herself to 
be getting stronger, and avoided every expression that 
could convey even a hint of the slights heaped upon her; 
but as she could not in her conscience praise her cousins, 
or speak of their kindness, Emma and Robert guessed so 
near the truthj as to doubt her being particularly happy. 

'rhere were books at Oakfield Villa; but Mrs. Ford’s 
books were drawing room books, not to be removed from 
their proper places on shelf or table; and above all things 
not to be profaned by a visit to the school room; but hap- 
pily Edward’s selection came to Cecil’s help, affording her 
ample amusement and saving her from rebellion and open 
war, for a time at least:— how much longer she could sub- 
mit must depend on circumstances. 

The arrival of the Hattons caused little or no change in 
Cecil’s course of life. The parents and youngest daugh- 
ter were good natured people wiih scanty penetration, who 
considered Miss Clare’s late misfortunes and delicate health 
as satisfactory reasons for her non appearance in her cou- 
sin’s drawing room, except when required to play song or 
quadrille; whilst the eldest Miss Hatton who set up for a 
beauty, and deserved to be set down for her impertinence, 
declared a school-room was the only fitting place for such 
persons as governesses; and of course \iqy fiance Mr. Beck- 
ington Ford agreed with his lady fair! His unchangeable 
love for his cousin at the precocious age of eleven had now 
given place to as unchangeable a love for Cecilia Hatton; 
and a cold bow or indifferent good morning was all he 
vouchsafed to Miss Clare, whose greatest pleasure was 
wandering alone on the beach, listening to the murmurs of 
the crested waves. 

“ Oh, cousin, such good news!” cried Lotty bursting into 
the school room one dusky evening, and flinging her arms 
round Cecil, who was sitting at the window watching the 
falling of the shadows with a painter’s eye — “ You know 
to-morrow is my birth day. Well, I coaxed Mrs. Hatton, 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


103 


and she coaxed papa and mamma; and vve are to cross 
over to the Island and dine among the rocks — go ihrough 
the Needles — climb up to the lighthouse — and run about 
like mad. Won’t it be fine fun?” 

“ I hope you will find it all as delightful as you antici- 
pate, dear liOtty,” replied Cecil, kissing her round, red 
cheek, and sighing involuntary, as she thought of her own 
blighted hopes. 

“ Oh! I shall be sure to find it delightful; and so will 
you, Cecil, I am certain; for you are to go too; I should 
not care about it without you, for the others are all so cross 
in these parties.” 

“ Thank you, dear child; but my going is impossible; 
your mamma would not like it; and 1 should not find it 
pleasant.” 

“Oh! but you must go, dear Cecil! You said the other 
day you should like to go round the Needles and up to the 
light house; and so I told mamma that you must go too, or 
else I should certainly break my neck among the'rocks, for 
no one helps me to clamber so well as you. You know 
how nicely we scramble up Hordle cliffs, looking for fossils. 
So when I persisted, and Mrs. Hatton said that it would be 
a nice change for you, poor thing, and do you good, mamma 
said — yes. And I am so delighted! — Are not you, Cecil?” 
cried the warm hearted Lotty, dancing about the room with 
nearly as much grace as a cow capering to a barrel organ. 

But her cousin saw nothing ludicrous in her movements — 
she only saw the affectionate heart that had thought of giving 
her pleasure. 

“ And you insisted because you thought it would please 
me, Lotty?” remarked Cecil in a tone which would have 
told one more versed in the depths of the human heart how 
deeply she felt the only kindness she had met with since 
her sojourn at Oakfield Villa. 

“ Are you crying about it, Cecil?” exclaimed Lotty, 
struck by her earnest tone and the tears in her eyes, ceasing 
her ridiculous caperings and running back to her cousin. — 

“ Are you vexed?” 

“No, dear Lotty; only grateful. You may know what 
it is one of these days, though I pray you never may, to 
weep at kindness — even the kindness of a little girl.” . 


104 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I wish I could do more for you; — make you rich again,” 
cried the affectionate child, kissing away her tears, com- 
prehending by the instinct of her own kind nature a some- 
thing of her cousin’s feelings. “If I had my way you 
should not be kept moping here in this dull room. I can’t 
think why mamma does not like visitors to see you, unless 
it is because you are so much prettier than Ann or Susan, 
as Mr, Farnell said the other day, when he did not think I 
heard him. It does not matter about that now though, dear 
Cecil, for you are to go to-morrow, so don’t cry any more; 
and when I am married you shall come and live with me 
— T promise you that. I know how to manage mamma by 
declaring that I should break my neck if you did not go.” 

“ I am much obliged to you, my dear Lotty,” replied Ce- 
cil, returning her caresses; “ but young as you are, even 
you must see the impropriety of my going on your mam- 
ma’s enforced consent; and you must not speak of that 
mamma as you do; trying to win )mur way with threats.” 

“ You may scold me as much as you please about what 
I say to, and of mamma; only don’t tell me that you won’t 
go;” cried the vexed child with a pouting lip. “ But in- 
deed and indeed you shall go!” she added again throwing 
her arms around her caressingly. “ I would not give — 
thank you — to go unless you went too. No one else wmU 
help me to clamber about and pick sea weeds, and pieces of 
rock; and you are so good natured, and take such care of 
me, w'hilst Jemima is so very cross. You will go — won’t 
you?” 

“ Indeed, Lotty, I can not.” 

“ What is all this hugging about?” inquired Mrs. Ford, 
who entered at the instant. 

“ I am only coaxing Cecil to go to-morrow,” answered 
the half abashed Lotty, fearing to let her cousin speak, lest 
her words should be a flat denial. 

“You may spare yourself the pains, silly child; for you 
are far too troublesome for me to undertake the charge 
of you; and I came to tell Miss Clare that I intended her 
to join the party.” 

Cecil’s color rose — her eyes flashed at Mrs. Ford’s in- 
sulting tone; and she would have instantly declined fulfil- 
ling her intentions, and asserted her independence, had not 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


105 


Lolty prest her little fat hand so firmly on her lips, as not 
only to prevent her from speaking, but almost from breath- 
ing, till Mrs. Ford had left the room. 

“This is too much!” cried Cecil starting up and fling- 
ing off the restraining hand. 

“ Do go, dear cousin? Don’t be vexed? Don’t mind 
what mamma says? Do go for my sake — only for my sake? 
I love you so much — so very much!” cried poor Lotly 
clinging to her. 

“ Love me, Lotty? No, no; — it is a false word. One 
promised love and then — deceived me!” exclaimed Cecil 
Clare with such a startling vehemence of look and tone 
that the terrified child hid her face in her dress, whispering 
in a pleading voice: — 

“ Oh! Cecil, dear cousin Cecil! don’t look so? — you 
frighten me. I do love you very, very much indeed.” 

These simple and affectionate words fell on Cecil’s heart 
with a soothing and controlling power; the vehemence of 
her indignation subsided, and sinking back in her chair she 
burst into a flood of tears, as she clasped the wondering 
Lotty in her arms. 

“ Do not cry, dear Cecil;” exclaimed Lotty crying too. 

The burst of passionate feeling was over; and Cecil was 
soon as calm to outward appearance as usual. 

“ I am not strong in health, Lotty, or should not have 
been so overcome by the trials of the present, and the 
thoughts of the past. You must think no more of this; — 
and you must name it to no one.” 

“ I will do any thing you wish, dear Cecil, since you go 
to-morrow for my sake,” cried the grateful girl. “ But I 
do hope it will be fine. The sky looks much clearer than 
it did — does not it?” 


106 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Lotty had her wish, the day was fine; and when she 
awoke in the morning, Cecil was bending over her pillow, 
kissing her peaceful brow, and breathing prayers for her 
future happiness, 

“ Idle, Lotty! to receive congratulations and presents on 
her birlh-day in bed,” exclaimed her cousin, placing a book 
in her hands. 

“ Thank you! Thank you!” cried the delighted girl, 
jumping up in bed, and hugging her round the neck. “ Six 
kisses — I will have six kisses on my birth-day; and you 
must say that you forgive me for all the trouble I have 
caused you; and I will try to be so good for the future! 
Will you forgive me, dear Cecil?” 

“That will I, Lotty; and let the thought rest with you; 
it may bring comfort in your after life — that you have 
soothed the pangs of one who has more to bear than the 
world knows of. But you must up. Miss Sleeper! so good 
bye;” and again kissing the happy Lotty, Cecil left the 
room to hide her own emotion. 

At half past ten the whole party embarked at Key Haven; 
a party of fifteen, besides two servants to prepare the din- 
ner, Mr. Beckington Ford having invited three single gen- 
tlemen of the neighborhood to join the expedition, and act 
as beaux to his sisters, and the youngest Miss Hatton. 

Gaily sped the little boats up the winding passage be- 
tween the mud banks; still more gaily did they round the 
shingly point by Hurst Castle, skimming over the waves, 
rocked by the meeting tides. Then the sails w’ere fairly 
set, and on they dashed towards the Needles, throwing the 
spray from off their prows, that fell in mimic ^showers over 
the light hearted voyagers, raising merry laughs among the 
younger ones of the party. The elders of the expedition 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


107 


maintained their sobriety, nay, even looked a little graver 
than usual from the consciousness of being on the treache- 
rous sea, now curled by a freshening breeze, but the more 
youthful seemed too full of joy and sport to admit of gra- 
vity or fear; at least greater fear than the young ladies held 
to be becoming and interesting; pretty tremors and hinted 
terrors, that afforded the gentlemen an opportunity of prov- 
ing the needlessness of these feminine alarms, or asserting 
in eloquent terms their determination to save their fair com- 
panions, even at the risk of their own lives; whereupon the 
flattered damsels in return for such gallantry, declared that 
with such heroic protectors, they considered themselves as 
safe as on dry ground. Whether if either of the boats had 
been upset, these eloquent heroes (neither of whom had 
ever swam more than twenty yards in his life) would have 
thought of the safety of the ladies instead of their own was 
not put to the proof; — (we should have been sorry to have 
held annuities depending on those ladies’ lives under such 
circumstances) for the boats neared the Needles in safety; 
and turning abruptly round the outermost rock (the tide 
being too low to admit of passing within) dashed into the 
bay beyond. 

Of all that merry, happy party Lotty proclaimed herself 
to be the merriest and the happiest, as she sat with one 
hand clasping the hand of her cousin, now watching the 
sea gulls in their wheeling flight, shouting to make them 
fly the faster, and now looking down into the clear waters, 
telling of the marvellous things that she saw in its depths 
(most marvellous things indeed according to her account) or 
dipping her disengaged hand in the sea, letting the waves 
pass through her fingers, or slightly sprinkling her brother 
and sisters, then laughing with childish glee as they shrank 
from the sparkling shower. Her spirits were too high to 
be checked by Ann’s rebukes or Jemima’s cross replies; 
and Cecil alone succeeded in keeping her tolerably quiet; 
but as the boats dashed into the bay beyond the Needles, 
her own admiration nearly equalled Lotty’s; and an excla- 
mation of delight involuntarily burst from her lips, which 
attracted the sneering wonder of Mr. Beckington Ford, and 
his elder sister, who held any thing approaching to enthu- 
siasm to be the very antipodes of wisdom and fashion. 


108 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Above was a bright blue sky, across which flitted a few 
light, snowy clouds — beneath the dancing sea, sparkling in 
the sun-beams; — before and to the right was no boundary 
to the expanse of water save the natural horizon; whilst on 
the other side perpendicular cliffs of a fleecy whiteness 
rose to the height of five or six hundred feet from whence 
ran out a projecting point, and beyond this two isolated 
rocks, their heads once sharp, now gradually becoming 
mere blunted from time and storm, from whence comes the 
name of the Needles, whilst over head flew innumerable 
gulls, now hovering with a quivering motion, now wheel- 
ing in a circling flight, their white wings tipped with dark 
seen from below, looking transparent in the summer sun 
like mother of pearl inlaid with jet. 

Mrs. Clare having disliked the water, it was the first 
time that Cecil had ever been on the sea. The dancing 
motion of the boat as it bounded over the waves, now dip- 
ping and now rising gracefully, inspired her with a deep, 
yet dreamy delight; to her it seemed the very poetry of action; 
and when to this was added the brightness of a glorious day 
in June, one of those few glorious days that June gives us 
now and then to stop the mouths of grumblers; and bold, 
and striking scenery, she forgot for a time her cares and 
trials — remembered not that there was such a person in ex- 
istence as Mrs. Ford; and lost herself in a poet’s golden 
dream of bliss. 

“La! how pretty; just like the centre dish at Mrs;. Haw- 
ton’s supper,” from Susan Ford, and her mother’s order 
from the other boat to “ draw down her veil, or she would 
get frightfully freckled,” recalled Cecil from her poetic vis- 
ions to the wearing realities of life. 

Pretty! to apply such a term, and in such a voice to those 
stately cliffs! — and to liken them to the sugared toy of a 
supper table! Five minutes before Cecil had rejoiced at hav- 
ing been compelled to form one in the expedition; and now 
she almost regretted it. To have our bright imaginings 
shocked by such silly nothings is almost worse tlian to be 
ever dead to lofty thoughts and poet’s dreams. 

She was scarcely sorry when the order was given for the 
boats to veer round and repass the Needles, as the party 
were to return and land in Alum Bay; and yet her head was 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


109 


turned back to catch a parting glimpse — her attention only- 
diverted from those stately cliffs, by a little vessel further 
to the eastward, whose white sails glistening in the sun, and 
picturesquely arranged, gave her the appearance of some 
beauteous bird from foreign climes, breasting the waves with 
ease and grace. 

“What vessel is that?” asked Mr. Beckington Ford. 

“ It is an R. Y. C., Sir; but I don’t think it is any of our 
yachts hereabouts,” replied one of the boatmen. 

“I thinks it is the Miranda, as was built at Portsmouth,” 
said the other, shading his eyes to catch a better view. 
“Sir Thomas Willerton’s now. Sir; it was built for his uncle 
the old Barrownight.” 

“ Sir Thomas Willerton! Oh! that is the handsome young 
man whom we met on board the steam-packet; the friend 
of the rich young lord who was so very civil to us all;” 
remarked Miss Ford, breaking off a flirtation with Lieut. 
Swanwick, an officer in the Preventive Service, to whose 
flatteries she lent a willing ear, when no better match was 
present. “ Is she coming this way?” she added eagerly. 

“ I should say that her destination was Christchurch; 
but some gentlemen steer their own yachts; and then I 
never presume to give an opinion as to their course,” re- 
plied Lieutenant Swanwick, vexed at the sudden pause in 
the flirtation, and feeling a thorough seamen’s contempt for 
amateur sailors. 

“ Going to Christchurch;” repeated Miss Ford in a tone 
of disappointment. 

“ Going to Christchurch?” repeated Cecil to herself, with 
something of the same feeling; and yet why she regretted 
the Miranda’s going to Christchurch she would have found 
it difficult to tell. She had never seen that yacht before — 
she had never heard its master’s name — she could not hope, 
even as a mere matter of curiosity, to go over it, should it 
follow in their wake; and she had certainly no desire to 
make acquaintance with the young baronet; and yet, from 
some strange association of ideas, she felt disappointed that 
the Miranda was going to Christchurch. 

We are no descendants of Edipus — no reader of riddles; 
and never pretend to understand the windings of a woman’s 
mind; — the labyrinth of Minos might be more easily ex- 
VoL. 1. — 10 


no 


THE aUlET HUSBAND. 


plored even without a clue, than the labyrinth of a woman’s 
thoughts. 'VVe would spread no scandal of our own sex; 
but verily the conclusions at which a woman’s heart ar- 
rives, are not to be reached by any ordinary course of rea- 
soning, strange and startling as such conclusions some- 
times are; they are not more strange and startling than the 
steps — the wide and broken steps — the unseen, unguessed, 
links by which faint hopes and dawning doubts, first far 
apart, approach, then spread — and deepen into conviction. 

The tempest had ever been one of Cecil’s favorite plays; 
the character of Ariel is so full of the poetry of the imagi- 
nation, that of Miranda so full of the poetry of the affec- 
tions; so simple — so pitiful — so confiding. This might 
account for her interest in the yacht bearing her favorite’s 
name. It might — or it might not; — we give no judgment 
in the matter, having, as we before hinted, no inclination 
to bewilder ourselves in the labyrinth of a woman’s thoughts 
— or fancies, should thoughts be considered too grand a 
name. 

The boats shot again round the outermost rock — the Mi- 
randa was hid from view by the projecting point of the 
island — and the whole party were soon safely landed in 
Alum Bay. Some sauntered along the beach, picking up 
pebbles and sea weed, some went to examine the fine white 
sand so famed and so sought, for making china; whilst 
others ran a risk of getting cricks in their necks by staring 
up at the high and various colored cliff’s, as they passed on 
to the spring of fresh pure water, that wells out of the 
rocks, streaming across the narrow beach, and mingling with 
the sea, nearly at the point where the line of the bold chalky 
headland falls back on the darker ground almost at right 
angles, forming a sheltered nook. Each and all strolled 
about at their pleasure, and nearly all well pleased; for, 
thanks to Mr. Beckington Ford’s three bachelor recruits, 
with the exception of Cecil and the two younger girls, 
“ every lass had a spark,” on whose arm to lean in climb- 
ing; and into whose ears to pour their nothings, pretty, or 
not pretty; and a governess and girls under sixteen could 
not expect beaux; — they were nobodies, undeserving the 
services of the lords of the creation; so the party might be 
considered complete, each furnished with a fitting compan- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


in 


ion. Jemima, who not only chose to consider herself a 
woman, but desired that others should do the same, was 
the only one who looked glum; and her frown vanished 
when she found that the youngest Miss Hatton made no 
objection to her sharing the attentions and arms of Mr. 
Saunders, a young navy surgeon. As for Cecil and Lotty, 
on they trudged, hand in hand, gaily and lovingly; now 
watching the advancing waves that wooed the sparkling 
beach with a gentle whisper, retreating as they touched 
their feet — now scrambling over broken rocks to collect the 
bright colored sands, or peep into tiny ravines making sport 
of the rough shingles; — sipping of the crystal stream — 
flirting hither and thither — seeing all things before any 
body else, because they thought only of seeing; and not at 
all of flirting. 

The almost perpendicular ascent just in the corner of the 
nook, where the bare white head-land fell against the darker 
cliffs of more fantastic form, being proclaimed by general 
consent too perilous and fatiguing, back streamed the strag- 
gling party along the beach towards the more usual road, 
a narrow path up the side of a deep and irregular ravine, 
wdth jutting pieces of rock above and below. This was 
not Lotiy’s first visit to the Island, and she and Miss Clare 
led the way as before, laughing as they scrambled on, un- 
conscious of the jests of some of the party, who were much 
amused at the contrast formed by the slight agile figure of 
Cecil and the short awkward one of Lotty, who despite of 
stumbling and panting, contrived to keep pace with her 
active companion. 

What a different creature was Cecil Clare on that island 
shore, to what she generally seemed in the dull school- 
room at Oakfield Villa! There was a life and energy; a 
buoyancy of spirit in every movement — a brightness in her 
speaking eye, that none had seen before; and which would 
have excited wonder and remark from her cousins, had 
they not been more pleasantly engaged, Mr. Farnell, on 
whose arm leant Susan Ford, was struck with the grace of 
her movements, the animation of her manner, and the deli- 
cate bloom with which exercise and pleasure had tinted 
her cheeks; and felt a great desire to change places with 
Lotty; but there was no getting rid of his accomplished 


112 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


companion; who drew without taste — sang without feeling 
— and conversed without ideas; so for the present at least he 
was fain to submit to his lot, and flatter Susan to her hu- 
mor’s bent. 

Cecil had consented to go for Lotty’s sake, because it 
was Lotty’s birthday; a dull look, or heavy step would 
have spoilt Lotty’s pleasure; and the warm hearted girl 
who stood alone in her kindness should see nothing but 
smiles — hear nothing but laughter — and never guess the 
sighs and tears of the preceding night thought Cecil, and 
threw herself, heart and mind, as it were, for the time being, 
into the spirit of the scene, resolutely chasing away every 
gloomy remembrance, and basking in the flood of golden 
sunshine that spread over sea and land with the gladsome 
humor of a happy child. For one day at least she would 
turn no thought on the past; but hold as stern a rule o’er 
memory as memory too often held o’er her. She would 
enjoy one happy day. Alas! who can say that with im- 
punity? The resolve has often been made; from the time 
of Seged down to the present; — but when has such a re- 
solve, if made by one of quick sensibilities and ardent 
imagination been fulfilled? Duty or business may satisfy 
the mind; but when did a party of pleasure content the 
heart? And memory will be avenged, and re assert its 
rule. Litile did Cecil think ere the rise of another sun 
with what tyrant might the past should rush upon her mind! 
— what pangs should teach her that let her jest and laugh 
as she would this was not — could not be a happy day. 

“Now, dear Cecil, let us run up here before any of the 
others come; and I will show you a nice seat where you 
can see all over the bay, and draw the rocks, and our little 
boats, and every thing,” cried Lotty, dragging her cousin 
up the steep path, that led through the narrow gorge, twist- 
ing and turning, yet ever ascending, till it came out on the 
down above. “ There, now come to the left:” — and after 
some scrambling, and more laughing, Cecil was seated by 
her puffing, panting guide on the point of rock from 
whence, as her cousin had promised, she could look over 
the whole bay with the Hampshire coast, and Hurst Castle 
and its light-house on the right. 

The remainder of the party were still loitering on the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


113 


beach; for as it was to be a thoroughly idle day, and no 
one took upon himself the command, hurrying tlie rest to 
do nothing, all sauntered on as they liked, killing lime as 
pleasantly as they could till dinner should be ready. 

“I am so happy, Cecil! so very happy!” cried Lotty, 
seating herself at her cousin’s feet; but so turned that she 
could look up in her face. “ Are not you happy loo?” 

“ Yes:” replied Cecil, but in a graver tone than she had 
used that day; for the spell of the scene was on her: — she 
was no longer Lolly’s merry playfellow; but a high souled 
woman, holding communion with the grand and the great 
— full of soft sympathies, and glowing thoughts — reading 
the secrets of the earth and sea, and thrilling at their touch- 
ing tones, unseen, unheard by duller spirits. 

To many nature hath no tongue — her warnings and her 
witching music fall on dull ears, or are not understood; — 
she hath a language none can learn from salaried masters — 
a grammar of her own not found in printed books. Love 
— only love can comprehend her glorious mysteries! — love, 
only love can read her secrets! Nature reveals herself to 
those alone who worship her as the creation of Almighty 
will and power, whose majesty is dimly shadowed forth in 
her transcendent beauty. Cecil was one of nature’s wor- 
shippers, and ever felt her beauties with a grateful, breath- 
less awe. To those around her, nature was as a sealed 
book; — they might look at the binding, and be in petty 
raptures at the gorgeous gilding; but they knew nothing of 
the higher beauties to be found within; its language was to 
them an unknown tongue — its spirit above their compre- 
hension. 

“ What makes you look so diflerent sometimes to what 
you do at others?” asked the wondering Lotty, after gazing 
for some moments into Cecil’s face. “You are looking 
like nobody else just now, as if your eyes would speak.” 

“What then, Lotty? did you never hear of speaking eyes 
before?” asked her cousin gaily, roused from her dream of 
poesy. 

“Mr. Farnell said sonvething about it one day to Susan 
that I did not understand; but 1 wish you would laugh, and 
make me laugh, cousin, for I like you much better when you 
are merry. I seem to feel now as if you could not love 

10 * 


114 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


such a stupid creature as I am. Or will you make the 
sketch you promised me? — here is the book.” 

“Yes, Lotty; and try to laugh too; but, believe me, I 
love you quite as much when I look grave. It would have 
made a better sketch from below; but since you will have 
it from hence — so be it.” 

“You can see more here, cousin.” 

“More water certainly.” 

“And I like the water so much! dancing up in such 
pretty waves. I wonder what is at the bottom of the sea. 
Should not you like to be a mermaid, Cecil, and go down 
to the very bottom?” 

“No, Lotty; for I am sure you would follow, and tread 
on my tail.” , 

“Oh! Cecil, how droll you are to day!” cried Lotty with 
a burst of childish laughter. “ Mind you are to draw every 
thing, even the gulls and cormorants on that shingle island, 
walking about looking so grave, as if they were trying to 
seem clever.” 

“They are vexed because you are laughing at them; and 
no living thing likes to be laughed at.” 

“But I cannot help laughing at them they look so funny. 
Oh! you have done my sketch; and so like! The rocks, 
and the sea, and the little boaties, all just as they are. But 
do put in a few birds, Cecil.” 

“And a mermaid in the corner with you treading on her 
tail?” asked her cousin archly. 

“No, no; Beckington and Jemima would make such fun. 
Oh! you have put in the gulls; and it is so like — so exactly 
like!” cried the delighted girl, clapping her hands with glee, 
as she turned from the spirited sketch to the view; and then 
back to the sketch. “But look, Cecil! look at that pretty 
vessel coming round the point. Do draw her for me with 
her sails all set; and the red flag at the top, and the white 
foam before her? Is not she pretty? How I should like 
to be in her!” 

“Beautiful!” cried Cecil as she watched the well trimmed 
vessel, after dashing past the point, make a graceful sweep 
half round the bay, then anchor exactly opposite the spot 
on which she sat. “ How proudly she seems to ride the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


115 


waves, as though tliey were her subjects! Where can she 
come from.” 

“1 don’t know that, cousin; but I can see that she be- 
longs to the Royal Yacht Club from her red barge, and 
golden letters. I have learnt that from Lieutenant Swan- 
wick; and I can tell that she is a cutter too,” replied Lotty, 
proud of her knowledge. 

“How nicely you have drawn, her for me! I do believe 
she is the Miranda that you looked at so much, and seemed 
so sorry to leave on the other side of the rocks. See! they 
have lowered the boat, and two gentlemen are getting into 
her.” 

“It is the Miranda,” said Cecil catching the name’'^ as 
the cutter veered round, the color involuntarily deepening 
on her cheek as she continued to gaze. 

On came the boat towards the shore, propelled by two 
stout rowers neatly dressed, every thing about the vessel 
showing that the owner of the Miranda was something of 
a dandy, as far as concerned his yacht; and no sooner did 
the keel grate on the sand, than the two young men, who 
had sat in the stern, looking through their glasses at those 
on the cliffs sprang lightly on the beach; and turned to- 
wards the ravine, which led to the higher ground. 

The first who leaped on shore was of middling height, 
and fair complexion; neither strikingly handsome in face, 
nor strikingly symmetrical in figure, but with a light and 
active step, and features strongly expressive of gay, good 
humor and ready kindness. 

The second was rather taller and more finely formed, 
with features which, though not strictly regular, were singu- 
larly attractive, when lit up, as they sometimes were, by 
the sudden flashing of thought or feeling; and then his eyes 
shone bright as some lustrous jewel in a dark mine; but 
generally their expression was earnest and grave, some 
fancied haughty; and he was not usually as popular as his 
more lively friend, whose blue eye glanced and glistened 
with infectious merriment. 

Cecil watched them as they crossed the beach; she saw 
the shorter one address some question to the servants, then 


* In those days the name might be seen on the stern and flags. 


116 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


turn to his companion with a gesture, which she considered 
as expressive of pleasure;— she bent over the cliff; till her 
head grew giddy, to catch a last glimpse of their forms as 
they approached the entrance to the ravine, then, drawing 
a deep breath, she sat still and silent, her eyes fixed on the 
ground, perfectly unconscious that the rest of the party 
w’ere standing on the different points of rock around her; 
not exactly by her side, but only at a little distance, watch- 
ing the Miranda; and like herself, speculating on the per- 
sons and purposes of the two young men brought on shore 
by her boat. 

Lotty was standing a few steps off, showing her sketch to 
Mrs. Hatton; and Cecil was left with a beating heart, some- 
times turning a timid, furtive glance towards the path be- 
low, just at the point where any one ascending would be 
first visible. It was singular that she should have felt such 
a strong and unaccountable desire that the Miranda should 
follow the boats instead of proceeding to Christchurch. And 
now that the Miranda was there before her, what could — 
what should it matter to her? Why was her heart beating 
so wildly — and why was she listening so anxiously — so 
breathlessly for the tread of those ascending that narrow 
path? 

“ It is the Miranda; and I dare say one of those young 
men is Sir Thomas Willerton. I thought you said she was 
steering for Christ-church, Swanwick,” cried Beckington 
Ford, looking through the glass of which he generally ma- 
naged to possess himself. 

“ It is the Miranda certainly; but I told you that I never 
pretended to foretell the course of these baby vessels, and 
amateur sailors,” replied the lieutenant by no means pleased 
with Miss Ford’s delight at the prospect of meeting Sir 
Thomas Willerton; for Mr. Ford’s fortune was somehow 
or other reported at treble its real amount. “ I dare say the 
owner thinks he is at Portland, orBeachy Head; any where 
but where he is.” 

“I have not a doubt that Sir Thomas Willerton under- 
stands navigation thoroughly; and I shall have great plea- 
sure in meeting him again; for he and his friend seemed 
exceedingly polite and gentlemanly young men, and show- 
ed us great attention when we visited Portsmouth,” observ- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


117 


ed Mrs. Ford in a rebuking tone, for to her it sounded little 
short of treason to impute ignorance on any subject to a 
man of rank, descending a few steps as she spoke, so as 
to stand immediately above the path where the Baronet must 
pass. 

Cecil heard none of the remarks of those around her; but 
her quick and anxious ear caught the tread, and the laugh, 
and the murmured tones coming up the ravine; — then those 
murmured tones grew more distinct; and she caught enough 
to fill up the following sentences, for the breeze bore the 
sounds towards her; and one of the speakers at least spoke 
in no whisper. 

“ I must make acquaintance with the beautiful Medora, 
perched so picturesquely on that point of rock; so it is of 
no use attempting to turn me, Fitz Elwyn. You know you 
started yourself, struck with her loveliness.” 

“ Do as you please, Willerton; I will walk on to the 
lighthouse.” 

“ No, my good fellow; you must stay and introduce me, for 
pushing a basket out of Mrs. Ford’s way, which was all I 
did, will scarcely entitle me to claim her acquaintance, or 
that of her daughter, but you handed them into the boat, in 
which I would have assisted you, had I suspected what face 
was hid under that ugly bonnet. Positively you must in- 
troduce me to this sea gazing nymph, who has won my 
heart already.” 

“ This is folly, Willerton! do come on to the light- 
house.” 

“ Not I; — introduce me.” 

“ I cannot: she is no daughter of Mrs. Ford’s.” 

“ Oh! if you do not know her yourself that is another 
matter. But never mind; introduce me to the old lady, and 
I will manage the rest.” 

“ I was never introduced to her myself.” 

“ Nonsense!” cried the baronet interrupting him impa- 
tiently. “Did not you hand her and her daughter into the 
boat from the steam packet? and did not she vow eternal 
gratitude? Psha, man! you are too modest. As if a hand- 
some young viscount, and a rich young baronet, both ba- 
chelors, might not do as they please with mothers and daugh- 


118 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ters. Now having recovered our breath, let us on to the 
adventure.” 

Cecil heard — and wished to hear, no more. She had 
listened with that breathless eagerness which makes the 
listener giddy; — she was sitting on a projecting point hang- 
ing over a vast depth below — she felt her head grow dizzy, 
and creeping a step from the edge to a safer seat, slie reso- 
lutely closed her eyes, and bowed her head on her knees, 
so that none could see her face. She saw not Mrs. 
Ford’s cordial reception of the two strangers — she heard 
not her exaggerated and sycophantic thanks for their former 
slight civilities, and her call on her daughters to join in the 
expression of pleasure at the meeting; the first words that 
struck on her ear, or rather that conveyed any distinct 
meaning to her mind, formed part of that lady’s reply to a 
question from Sir Thomas Willerton. 

“ Oh! that is only my governess — a poor cousin, who 
has no other home.” 

The contemptuous tone might have stung a meeker 
spirit than Cecil’s into anger. No other home! — And such 
a home! 

“ I congratulate you on having so fair a cousin; and must 
beg you to introduce me and my friend to your lovely rela- 
tive,” said Sir Thomas purposely loud enough for Cecil to 
hear; and with a manner which coming from a wealthy 
young baronet, Mrs. Ford dared not gainsay. 

She could not however so far control her vexation as to 
perform the introduction graciously. “ Lotty, tell Miss 
Clare, I want her.” 

Cecil heard the message; but she stirred not — spoke not — 
even when Lotty repeated that message close into her 
ear. 

“ We should go to the lady not summon her to us,” ob- 
served Sir Thomas assisting Mrs. Ford to climb the lugged 
slope, on the ridge of which Cecil was seated, followed by 
Lord Fitz Elwyn, much to that lady’s annoyance, who 
could not help muttering. 

“I hate people in her situation giving themselves airs.” 

“ Miss Clare, these gentlemen do you the honor of desi- 
ring an introduction. Viscount Fitz Elwyn, Sir Thomas 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


119 


Willerton,” said Mrs. Ford with a manner meant to over- 
whelm her governess! 

Cecil had risen just as they approached; and either from 
an inadvertent look below, or the irregularity of the piece of 
rock on which she stood, she staggered and might have 
fallen over the cliff, had not the affectionate Lolly caught 
her dress with a firm grasp. 

Some of the young ladies considered this a fitting occa- 
sion for uttering interesting little screams; and Mrs. Ford 
began to rebuke her governess for choosing such a dange- 
rous situation; but ere the echoes of the screams had died 
away among the reverberating rocks, or the rebuke was a 
quarter ended, Cecil had returned the bows of the gentle- 
men; and was standing firmly erect, with a cheek nearly as 
white as the chalken oJiffs beyond; but a demeanor coldly 
self-possessed. Neither of the strangers could have been 
in time to have assisted her had they seen her danger, 
which was so instantaneous; and the viscount, fronting her 
with a mien as proud and cold as her own, made no remark 
on her late peril, but Sir Thomas poured forth a thousand 
congratulations on Lotty’s timely clutch, indulging in more 
than his usual flattering hyperboles when addressing ladies, 
from the annoyance he saw it caused Mrs. Ford; yet, amid 
all the exaggeration and apparent affectation of some of his 
phrases, there was evident so much real kindness of heart; 
and the empressement of his manner, which was at the 
same time perfectly respectful, was so very pleasing — so 
very flattering, when contrasted with the cold stateliness of 
his companion, particularly to one situated like Cecil, that, 
after the first few opening sentences she met his endeavors 
towards a better acquaintance with the frankness of one 
willing to please, and to be pleased. That the baronet 
should bestow his attentions on her poor cousin was how- 
ever very contrary to the will and wishes of Mrs. Ford, 
who, to break off their conversation, insisted on an imme- 
diate renewal of their walk to the lighthouse. 

“ You will join our party I trust, and partake of our din- 
ner,” she added turning to the strangers. 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” replied the baronet, lea- 
ving his friend no time for objection. 

“ You are very good; I shall consider this one of the 


120 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


most fortunate days of my life,” cried the delighted Mrs. 
Ford, who showed no delicacy in her scheming. “ Ann, 
my dear, suppose you lead the way, and show Lord Fitz 
Elwyn the path we always take; and which is so much 
easier than the one generally followed. I must beg you. 
Miss Clare, to take care of Lotty and Jemima; and pray do 
not let them run about so wildly as you did just now; but 
keep hold of their hands: I was quite terrified. I will 
confide you to Susan, Sir Thomas, she makes an excellent 
guide.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Ford; but I know every inch of these 
parts, and will take care of Miss Clare, who still looks 
pale and requires support,” replied the baronet offering his 
arm, as he sppke, to assist Cecil down the slope, who, 
feeling the kindness which dictated the offer, took it with 
gratitude, repaying his attentions by \x>aking herself as 
agreeable as she could during the walk. 

“ That cannot be: — I must entreat you to pardon a moth- 
er’s fears. Sir Thomas. I cannot bear to see Jemima run 
about these wild places by herself.” 

“ Oh! do not fuss youself about me, mamma; Mr. Swan- 
wick will take much better care of me than Miss Clare, who 
has shown herself so giddy,” cried the flippant Jemima, 
proud of her beau, who had been thrown off by her eldest 
sister at the appearance of the viscount and his friend. 

Some of the party laughed; and Mrs. Ford was obliged 
to yield the point. 

“ Come with me, Lotty,” said Cecil, holding out her 
hand to the affectionate child. 

“You had better come round to this other side; I can 
support you better than Miss Clare, who needs an arm her- 
self,” observed Sir Thomas. 

Lotty hesitated for a moment, abashed by the address of 
a stranger, then, encouraged by his good-humored smile, 
accepted his offer. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


121 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ How slow you are, Fitz Elwyn; I shall carry off the 
prize, whilst you are only getting ready for the race,” 
cried Sir Thomas, coming up with his friend. 

“ So it appears; therefore, to avoid defeat, I shall not 
enter the lists against you,” replied Fitz Elwyn in a far 
more stately tone than suited the occasion. 

“ As you please, Fitz, we shall reach the goal first whe- 
ther you do or not. ‘ Faint heart never won fair lady,* 
nor climbed high mountain; so good bye,” said the baro- 
net, passing on at a brisk pace.” 

“ Good bye,” repeated his friend; but at the same time 
quickening his own pace so as to keep but a little way be- 
hind him, a station he maintained during the whole ascent 
to the lighthouse, which was less fatiguing than usual, 
owing to the recent fall of rain; for the short turf becomes 
very slippery in dry weather. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hatton having no great taste for sights 
that required climbing steep hills, declared their intention 
of sitting down among the rocks till the return of the young 
party, and their host and hostess felt compelled to remain 
with them, and play the polite; so the baronet was left in 
undisputed possession of his Medora as he had termed her, 
with whom he became more and more enchanted every 
minute; laying aside whilst conversing with her much of 
the complimentary and affected phraseology, which dis- 
figured his conversation with other women. 

Here was Cecil toiling up a hill in the Isle of Wight, side 
by side, though not arm in arm, with that very Lord Fitz 
Elwyn, who had been expected day after day for the last 

six weeks at Lindmoor, in the county of ! Here 

was food for thought; but Cecil was resolved at that mo- 
ment not to think; — or at least not of Lord Fitz Elwyn; 
VoL. I.— 11 


122 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


SO she went on talking to Sir Thomas Willerton with an 
overflowing gaiety, almost amounting to the giddiness of 
which Jemima had accused her. 

“Here we are, Miss Clare, arrived at the termination 
of our Herculean labors, standing out on the balcony of 
this wondrous light-house, and rewarded with a bird’s-eye 
view of sea and land. It is all very well climbing, and 
I never see a hill without feeling an irresistible desire 
to stand on the lop of it; but, between you and me and 
the cat. Miss Clare, in my opinion, toiling for a view 
is very much like toiling for honors: — the sole plea- 
sure is anticipation — success brings disappointment. In 
short, climbing a hill is a good moral to ambition, if ambi- 
tion would but profit by it. The great man looks down 
with contempt from his elevated position on the pigmies 
below; whilst the pigmies below after having got a crick 
in the neck from gazing up at the great man, decide that 
he looks no greater than themselves. I will have none of 
your honors — no not I. I will be neither statesman nor 
hero; king nor kaiser; but simple Sir Thomas Willerton, 
with a blazing fire — a good dinner — a bottle of Champaign 
— a trusty friend — and a loving, lovely wife: — a man whom 
all shall envy in their hearts, though they may not praise 
me with their tongues.” 

“ You forget the old chivalric rule of ^ place aux dames^'* 
and name the lady last,” said Cecil gaily. 

“ As the crowning blessing of all; — the top stone of the 
pyramid. Does not Lindley Murray say that the most 
important object is to be placed last? Do not the inferior 
members of the royal family precede the king and queen?” 

“ Very sophistically argued;” observed Lord Fitz Elwyn, 
who had ascended immediately after his friend and was 
now with Miss Ford standing close at his elbow. “ Re- 
member your assertion, that faint heart never won fair lady; 
yet you seem to expect that this crowning blessing — this 
top stone of the pyramid — (the placing which by the way 
I dare say the masons found a ticklish job) is to drop from 
the skies into her chair by the side of the blazing fire, since 
you protest against the toil of seeking her.” 

“ Only the toil of seeking honors. Shame on the man, 
who thinks it a toil to seek fair woman’s love. Not that I 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


123 


should dawdle about it as you would, Filz; I agree with 
the old proverb: — 

“ Happy is the wooing, 

That’s not long adoing.” 

, “ Are you of the same opinion, Miss Clare?” asked FilZ 
Elwyn abruptly — his first remark since their introduction. 

“ Oh no! certainly not; I am for all such affairs being 
carried on in proper order,” replied Cecil with spirit, after 
a moment’s hesitation and embarrassment. “ The papas 
and mammas should first meet to discuss whether it will 
be a fitting match; — equal rank and wealth on both sides 
— or wealth sufficient to purchase title upon one; and title 
willing to be purchased on the other. Then all these pre- 
liminaries being duly arranged, the gentleman may be per- 
mitted to say — ‘ will you have me?’ — and the young lady 
to whisper — ‘ ask my parents?’ — The most material points 
being thus secured, the young couple must be happy.” 

“ Oh, Miss Clare! to think of your making matrimony 
a bargain! — a debtor and creditor account! I hoped to find 
you very romantic,” exclaimed Sir Thomas, surprised at 
her reply, which he had a vague idea contained some hid- 
den meaning. 

“ Expect no romance from me; I am too poor to be 
romantic. It is all very fine to talk of love in a cottage; 
but they only can afford to practise it, who have fortunes 
sufficient to live in large houses, and keep carriages and 
horses.” 

“ I should be quite shocked, could I believe that you 
mean what you say; and turn hero or statesman at once.” 

“ Do: — think of the delight your ghost would experience 
in beholding the statues erected to your honor! A sturdy 
figure in what is called a Roman toga, looking like a burly, 
vulgar priest in his cassock, standing on a heavy pedestal; 
or placed on the top of a pillar looking like a knob on a 
walking stick — or, en cavalier with modish coat and queue, 
silting as perfectly unconcerned at the dangerous prancing 
of your destrier as though you were philosopher, as well 
as hero.” 

“Oh, shocking! Cruel Miss Clare! To talk of my spi- 


124 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


lit walking the earth, when it is well known to the merest 
tyro in ghostology that none but the murdered or their 
murderers snufl' this upper air; all the peaceable and well 
disposed sleeping calmly in their graves. I am too much 
horrified at the bare idea to continue the subject; and shall 
proceed to play cicerone at once, to prevent your imagin- 
ing any more mischief against me,” exclaimed the laugh- 
ing baronet. “Look here! we will finish this droll little 
Island first. There is Fresh Water Bay; but you have 
seen that I suppose; and all the other lions of the neigh- 
borhood.” 

“ I have seen no lions but those to which I have been 
introduced to-day; this is my first excursion.” 

“ Indeed! and yet you have been more than a month at 
Milford. How comes this? Are you not curious in these 
matters?” 

“ It is you who are curious. Sir Thomas. Ask a lady 
for a reason, when you told me only ten minutes since that 
you thoroughly understood our sex? — a phrase, which, 
from a gentleman, always means that women are the very 
reverse of what is reasonable — made up of folly and frivo- 
lity.” 

“ Fie upon you. Miss Clare, for such a libel on the po- 
liteness and penetration of us gentlemen; you must learn to 
judge better of us, and to induce you to form a more favor- 
able opinion, and compel you to listen to my defence, I 
insist on conveying you to Fresh Water Bay to-morrow in 
the Miranda, taking care to provide proper chaperons, 
party, <fec. I know you are fond of the water.” 

“ Bribery and corruption! I am far too moral to encou- 
rage either,” cried Cecil laughing. 

“ Nay, but you will go. Will you not?” said Sir Tho- 
mas earnestly, his whole manner proving how much he 
desired her presence. 

“ I am much obliged for your kind wish to give me 
pleasure; but cannot avail myself of it,” replied Cecil with, 
a sudden gravity, showing that she really meant what she 
said. 

“ Why not?” inquired Sir Thomas eagerly. 

“I cannot — indeed I cannot,” replied Cecil, whilst a 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


125 


touching sadness overshadowed her former gaiety, the effect 
of some painful remembrance, as after an involuntary glance 
at Miss Ford and Lord Fitz Ehvyn, she looked on the 
ground. 

The baronet marked that lightning glance, and sudden 
change; he saw, too, that she clung for support to the rail 
of the balcony; and guessed that a dread of unpleasant com- 
ments from Mrs. Ford and her daughters caused her re- 
fusal. Too delicate to put further questions, and sincerely 
pitying her dependent situation, he merely said: — “ I shall 
see to that,” in a tone so low that Cecil might note it or not 
as she pleased; and then proceeded to conclude his task as 
cicerone. 

“There is the sea, as you may perhaps perceive. I 
would I could point out to you Nereids and Mermaids, but 
Nereids and Mermaids, like the tricks of children and dogs, 
are never forthcoming when called for; so we will do with- 
out them. There is Christchurch Point and — ” 

“ Oh! I have told Cecil all that, as we walked on the 
beach,” cried Lotty interrupting him. 

“ You do right to stop me then; I always hated repeti- 
tions, as boy or man; so now look to the north over the 
intervening space, and lake a glance at the New Forest in 
the distance. Imagine the Conqueror sweeping through its 
glades with his gallant train of Norman Knights, the ashes 
of its smoking cottages crashing beneath his horse’s hoofs; 
and the mournful wail of the houseless wanderers coming 
on his ear from the depths of the sheltering woods; — or 
picture to yourself some forty years later a merry hunting 
party bursting through the coverts headed by that very 
Conqueror’s son, laid low in the ardor of pursuit: — an 
atonement, it should seem, for the wrongs of the peasants 
driven forth to form a royal chace. Was not that. what you 
said the other day, Fitz Elwyn, when we lay stretched on 
the moss in one of its leafy bowers? I hope I have not 
spoilt it by repetition, though to tell the truth, I felt much 
more inclined to sleep at that moment than to listen to your 
eloquence, or fancy William the Conqueror, and his mailed 
barons parading through the depopulated chace. I shall 
get into disgrace I see, if I attempt to discourse on the 
sunny glades, and shady bowers; the mossy turf, and 


126 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


Stately trees, with their lights and their shades, and their 
waving branches, rustling in the breeze — the humming of 
the bees, amid the gorse — the tapping of the brilliant wood- 
pecker — the shrill scream of the pretty jay — the sportive 
cry of the nimble squirrel, as he springs from bough to 
bough — and the delicious fragrance, and the low thrilling 
murmur that has no words amid those deep, rich woods of 
the old New Forest, which two last by the way, I could 
never discover, so I entreat you to take up the Saga. I 
have heard you say a thousand times that none but a 
forester could ever properly describe the charms of his 
childhood’s home.” - 

“Perhaps none but a forester can feel them, VVillerton; 
and there rests the secret of all moving tales; to affect others 
W'e must be affected ourselves. But you have displayed 
such unusual eloquence on the subject, that I will not trou- 
ble Miss Clare with a longer description, since my personal 
feelings could in no way interest her, and would only make 
you laugh,” replied Filz Elwyn, his gaze fixed as he spoke 
on the place of his birth, left early, yet never forgotten, and 
ever loved. 

“ Nay, Fitz; I will try and be grave for once. I own to 
preferring streets, houses, and people, to trees, squirrels, 
and bogs; but then I am very liberal in matters of taste, 
and if an old woman prefers a china monster to the Diane 
de la Beche, I would on no account endeavor to disturb her 
judgment. So begin; I dare say Miss Clare will under- 
stand and sympathise with your feelings, though I, vaurien 
as I am, cannot. Won’t you Miss Clare?” 

“I neither seek, nor expect sympathy from Miss Clare,” 
replied Fitz Elwyn proudly. “My feelings towards the 
Forest partake of the reverent affection of a child, and the 
more joyous, yet as lasting love of the brother; — something 
of the deep passion of the Indian for his native woods; and 
this none but a forester can feel or comprehend. There is 
a something almost holy to me in its shadowy depths — its 
sunny lawns, and heathy wilds; for they come upon me 
with the spell of my childhood, bringing back to my mind 
some touch of affection, some glowing vision, or some lofty 
thought.” 

“Capital! I knew I should pique you into sublimity,” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


127 


exclaimed the light hearted baronet. “You may guess 
from this, Miss Clare, what his eloquence would be in the 
scene of his raptures. We will make a party there, Fitz; 
I will coax Mrs. Ford to bring all her particular friends, 
and Miss Clare shall be consigned entirely to your charge, 
and you shall try if you can persuade her to abandon the 
busy haunts of men, for: — 

‘ Leafy bower and murmuring rill,’ 

though she is loo lively to give you a hope of such a 
triumph.” 

“Excuse me,” answered Fitz Elwyn abruptly; “I shall 
make no attempt to induce Miss Clare to forego the admi- 
ration, which she is so well calculated to inspire; nor would 
I willingly listen to silly babblings amid the glories of 
nature.” 

“Nothing personal I hope, Fitz, in your remarks. I 
ought to have remembered that you do not like jesting on 
your forest love, though I never saw you so saturninely 
magnificent before. We will at any rale defer our threat- 
ened invasion of your native haunts, so clear up your brow; 
and do not look as if you would fain drown me, am! refuse 
Miss Clare a hand to help her out of one of your pleasant 
bogs. Suppose we descend; others are coming up — there 
is not room on this balcony for all; and the springy feel of 
the short turf will put us all in good humor.” 

“I have no right to be out of humor with you, Willerton; 
but I believe the black dog is on me to day,” observed his 
lordship frankly. 

“Hunt it away. Miss Ford. Fitz Elwyn can be the 
gayest of the gay, when in the humor; or I should say the 
happiest of the happiest; for there is sometimes a joyous- 
ness in his look and tone that would silence the most in- 
veterate grumbler extant.” 

“ I will do my best, go away naughty dog! go away!” 
cried Miss Ford, pretending to brush away the animal with 
a manner which she intended to be irresistibly pretty and 
simple; but which was instead so irresistibly ridiculous 
that the young men were in fits of laughter; and even 


128 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Cecil, though half provoked at her affected silliness, could 
not help joining in the mirth. 

“You have succeeded admirably, Miss Ford; no black 
dog could resist your power; but do not relax your efforts 
lest it should return,” cried the highly amused Sir Thomas, 
giving his friend a mischievous look, as he followed Cecil 
and Lotty down the winding stairs. 

The party returned from the light-house pretty much in 
the same order in which they had set out. Sir Thomas 
and Cecil maintained a lively conversation to the great 
amusement of Lotty; and still did Fitz Elwyn and his com- 
panion keep within a few steps; the latter looking very 
happy, the former quite the reverse, though Miss Ford did 
not perceive it. They found the elders all ready for their 
dinner, which was only waiting their return; and the clatter 
of knives and forks, with the difficulty of helping, holding 
and sitting on the uneven ground, and consequent com- 
plaints thereof, prevented for a time all further discourse. 
Mrs. Ford made another attempt to separate the baronet 
from Cecil; but finding Sir Thomas resolutely bent on re- 
taining his station next her, contented herself with securing 
Fitz Elwyn as a neighbor to her eldest daughter; and edg- 
ing in her second on the other side of his friend, who how- 
ever seemed to have no eyes or thought save for Miss Clare. 

By the time that the gentlemen had concluded their wine, 
and the servants and boatmen had demolished the fragments 
of the dinner, Mr. Ford, who was afraid of catching cold, 
and who always took care of number one, (leaving all other 
numbers to take care of themselves) declaring that it was 
time to go home, began walking towards the boats. The 
young people pleaded for delay, but Mr. Ford’s fiat was 
irresistible; so the beaux again offered their arms to the 
belles, and assisted them down the narrow shelving path to 
the beach, where the boats were ready to receive them. 

“You really must accompany us to Oakfield Villa, and 
allow me to return the great civility I received at Ports- 
mouth,” observed Mrs. Ford in her most winning tone. 
“ I am afraid I can not offer you beds; but it will be a lovely 
night; and I dare say we shall be able to get up a little 
dance.” 

“ We shall be most happy,” replied Sir Thomas, before 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 129 

she had concluded her invitation, turning a pleading look on 
his friend, who merely bowed. 

The party had now to be distributed among three boats, 
as that belonging to the Miranda was to proceed to Key 
Haven, and there await the return of the young men from 
Oakfield Villa. In the first departed Miss Hatton and her 
sister, Mr. Ford, Mr. Beckington Ford, Jemima and Mr. 
Saunders, whom that young lady showed astrong inclination 
to appropriate to herself. The next in order of filling was 
the boat from the yacht; and Lord Fitz Elvvyn stood at the 
bow handing in the ladies, who were to freight her, and 
doing the honors, whilst Sir Thomas lingered on the way 
to secure a passage with Cecil. It was delightful to be 
handed along the plank by a lord! — so in stepped Mrs. Ford, 
and in stepped Miss Ford, leaving a space between them; 
and in would step Mr. Hatton, whom mother and daughter 
could scarcely keep out of the purposely vacant space; and 
then in stepped Miss Susan Ford and Mr. Farnell, the lat- 
ter being requested to make haste on account of the state of 
the tide, and a probable change of wind. 

“I must trouble you to take charge of Lotty, and Miss 
Clare in the other boat, since our kind friends must go in 
their own;” observed Mrs. Ford, addressing Mr. Farnell. 

“ Not at all;” cried Lord Fitz Elvvyn. “ Slay where 
you are, Mr. Farnell, if you please; and there is room for 
you;” he added turning to Mr. Swanwick, as that gentle- 
man appeared escorting Mrs. Hatton. 

The look and the hint were enough for the lieutenant; 
he could avenge himself on Mrs. and Miss Ford by sepa- 
rating the latter from the viscount, if he could do nothing 
more; so he sprang in without a comment, taking the seat 
left for his lordship. 

Mrs. Ford remonstrated, declaring that she could not 
think of turning Lord Fitz Elwyn and Sir Thomas Willer- 
ton out of their own boat, and that slie must go with dear 
Mrs. Hatton; but her remonstrances and declarations were 
all in vain: — at a sign from the viscount, the rowers dipped 
their oars in the water; and off went the little Miranda to 
the great vexation of some of her passengers. 

“ I must entreat you to accept me as your esquire, Mrs. 
Hatton;” said Lord Fitz Elwyn addressing that lady with 


130 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


the respectful politeness he ever showed to age, particu- 
larly when allied to good nature as in the present instance. 

“Your lordship is very kind to take care of an old woman 
like me; — but would not you rather be with the young 
people?” 

“ I have chosen you for my lady fair, so pray do not re- 
ject my attendance,” replied his lordship with playful 
gallantry. 

“ I am too proud of the honor to do that:” said the grati- 
fied Mrs. Hatton. 

“You deserve a crown for managing so cleverly,” whis- 
pered Sir Thomas to the viscount, as they were helping to 
arrange the plank for the ladies. 

“ A martyr’s let it be then.” 

The baronet looked up at the strange tone of the reply, 
then, catching, as he believed, his meaning, answered gaily; 
“yes; a tete-a-tete with Miss Ford is martyrdom.” 

“ Never mind what the boatmen say. Miss Clare, we 
shall have a pleasant voyage home; you need not tremble 
I assure you,” said Sir Thomas, as he stood on one side of 
the plank ready to assist Cecil into the boat, whilst Lord 
Fitz Elwyn stood with an extended hand on the other for 
the same purpose. ^ 

“ I am not afraid,” replied Cecil; and as ^f to prove the 
truth of her assertion, she trod the plank with a quick step, 
never touching Lord Fitz Elwyn’s hand, and sprang into 
the boat where Mrs, Hatton andLotly were already seated. 

The baronet took a seat by her side — his friend one 
exactly opposite; and the third skiff was soon in the wake 
of the other two. Mrs. Hatton said little — ^his lordship 
seemed of the same humor; and Lotty was happy in listen- 
ing to dear Cecil, and Sir Thomas Willerton, who did all 
he could to engross his fair companion’s attention. 

The viscount was in hopes that, being in the last boat, 
the rest of the party would have walked on towards Oak- 
field Villa immediately on disembarking; but Mrs. Ford 
having also her hopes on the subject lingered near the land- 
ing place with her eldest daughter; so that his lordship, 
though persisting in giving one arm to Mrs. Hatton, could 
not avoid, without positive rudeness, offering the other to 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


131 


Miss Ford; whilst Sir Thomas more fortunate, or more de- 
termined continued to retain his former companions. 

“ What a happy day this has been to me! I grieve that 
it is drawing to a close,” observed Sir Thomas as the Villa 
gate appeared in view. “If I might but hope that you have 
found it half as delightful as I have done, I should mark 
this day as one of the brightest in life’s calendar.” 

“Delightful;” cried Cecil with a shiver withdrawing her 
arm from his, and folding her shawl more closely round her. 

“Yes, delightful! May I not hope that you have found 
it so?” repeated Sir Thomas. “You may feel it a little 
cool now, though to me it is a lovely evening, or night, for 
it is between the two.” 

“ Ask Lotty what she has found it. I was pledged to 
her to make it as delightful as I could;” replied Cecil draw- 
ing down her veil. 

In answer to this appeal, Lotty poured forth her childish 
ecstacies; whilst Sir Thomas said to himself — “ This eva- 
sion of my question is flattering; she dares not say how 
happy she has been.” 

“ I trust we shall have many more such days,” he whis- 
pered, whilstXotty held the gate. 

“ Heaven f&bid!” exclaimed Cecil earnestly. 

“ Heaven fSbid, Miss Clare! What am I to understand 
by this earnest exclamation?” questioned her startled com- 
panion. 

“ Nay, Sir Thomas, I have heard of the keeper of the 
king’s conscience; but I never yet heard of the keeper of a 
baronet’s comprehension; and certainly was not aware of 
my own appointment to the office,” answered Cecil with 
her former gaiety. 

“I would give much to understand your meaning/’ ob- 
served Sir Thomas, vexed at this second evasion. 

“ Much or little would be thrown away; it is only an 
old moral, or rule, or whatever it is to be called. Look at 
the gleaming of that lamp against the pillar! — does it not 
make the darkness of the back ground appear darker still? 
The brighter the light the deeper the shadow.” 

“But if every day were bright — then there would be no 
shadow.” 

“ There are no more bright days for me:” said Cecil 


132 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


with a fixed despondency of look and tone, that shocked 
her hearer. 

“ Say not so! there are days, years of brightness,” ex- 
claimed the baronet earnestly, gently detaining her as she 
would have entered the house. “ I will persuade Fitz El- 
wyn to stay longer; and we will have many parties of 
pleasure — one to-morrow to Fresh Water Bay, which shall 
be delightful, in spite of Mrs. Ford. — I always carry my 
point,” he added, as if to convince her of his power to per- 
form his engagement. 

“ No, no! not another such day!” she replied with a 
quickness, almost amounting to wildness, as, snatching 
away the shawl by which he had detained her, she darted 
into the house at a call from Mrs. Ford, leaving him to 
wonder at her changing mood. 

“ Poor girl! that woman will harass her to death, she is 
so quick and sensitive. I will protect her,” thought the 
baronet as he gazed after her receding figure. 

The carriage had been ordered to Key Haven to bring 
home some of the party; and Mrs. Ford was standing at 
the school-room door when Cecil joined her. 

“ How dreadfully ill you look, my de^” began that 
lady, in what she considered a most insinuaBiig tone, flash- 
ing her candle into her cousin’s eyes so a^nearly to blind 
her. “ I saw you were wofully tired before you left the 
Island; but Mr. Ford said there was no vacant seat in the 
carriage; or I would have saved you this last walk. I 
should recommend your keeping your room the rest of the 
evening; in fact going to bed almost immediately. You 
will be laid up otherwise, and doctors are very expensive, 
to say nothing of the trouble you give your friends.” 

“ I have a violent headache; and intend to follow your 
good advice,” replied Cecil coldly. 

“ That is right, my dear; and shows your good sense,” 
cried Mrs. Ford, delighted at gaining her point so easily; 
instead of being compelled to turn her advice into a com- 
mand as she had expected. “ I will send you a cup of tea, 
and make your excuses should any one inquire after you, 
which is not likely.” 

Cecil passed on to her garret, intending to remain there; 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


133 - 


but as the under housemaid had been taking her pleasure 
as well as her betters, and the bed was not even made, she 
was obliged to return to the school-room, and there wait 
till it should please Betty to complete the arrangement of 
her sleeping apartment. 


=? - 







VoL. 1.— la 


134 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ford did their best to please their guests, 
particularly the titled ones; but the lady saw that their en- 
deavors had not the desired success. Lord Filz Elvvyn 
looked weary of his host’s pompous boasts of visiting the 
best company — keeping the best horses — giving the best 
wines — and playing the best game at whist; and the baro- 
net, instead of smiling at his hostess’s flatteries, or lauding 
her daughter’s singing, was turning many anxious glances 
towards the door. 

“ I hope Miss Clare is not much tired,” he remarked at 
length, growing impatient at her non-appearance. 

“ S!ie is gone to bed assigning that as a reason.” 

A look towards Fitz Elwyn hinted at immediate depar- 
ture; but Mrs. Ford had resolved on their sUy. 

“ Come, young people, I thought you wCTe going to have 
a dance,” she exclaimed, glancing significantly at Becking- 
ton, who, declaring such to be their intention, immediately 
led out Miss Hatton. Mr. Farnell followed his example 
with her younger sister — Mr. Saunders engaged Jemima; 
and Miss Ford looked down, expecting an offer from Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, who, as he could not now depart, insisted on 
dancing with the good-natured Lotty, it being her birthday; 
so Miss Ford was obliged to put up with Mr. Swanwick, 
as Sir Thomas took Susan. 

Here were six couple ready to dance; — but where was 
the music? Neither Mrs. Hatton, nor Mrs. Ford could play 
quadrilles; and their husbands were of course incompetent 
to the task. Mrs. Ford, declaring that Lotty ought to be in 
bed, wished to pack her off and make Jemima, whose flir- 
tation with Mr. Saunders she did not approve, play for the 
rest; but against this there appeared such strong symptoms 
of rebellion in all the parties concerned, that she was ob- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


135 


liged in prudence to abandon the idea. Jemima asserted 
that she could not play; and her sisters admitted the truth 
of her assertion. 

“ What shall we do?” asked Susan, delighted with her 
partner. “ Are you sure you cannot play for us, Mrs. 
Hatton? We would not be particular — you could play 
any thing.” 

“ My dear, I can play nothing, or would readily oblige 
you. But why not ask Miss Clare, who is always willing 
to lend her assistance when required?” 

“ Yes Cecil, dear Cecil! she will play for us,” cried 
Lotty delighted at the prospect of dancing, and dancing too 
with Lord Fitz Elwyn, who had won her heart by some 
kind questions and remarks fitting her age. 

Mrs. Ford opposed the plan on account of Cecil’s head- 
ache, and her having retired to rest; but her opposition was 
drowned in the general acclamation at the proposition, and 
Lotty, who averred that she was not gone to bed, set off 
with Mrs. Hatton to bring her. 

Cecil was found by the ambassadors, or rather ambassa- 
dresses, leaning her head on her clasped hands, that rested 
on the table; the long wick of her solitary candle proving 
it had not been snuffed since her return; and so completely 
was she wrapped up in her own meditations that she did not 
remark their entrance, till, deceived by the dim light, Mrs. 
Hatton stumbled over a chair. 

“ What is the matter?” inquired Cecil staring at her visi- 
tors. 

“ Nothing to frighten you, and make you look so pale,” 
replied Mrs. Hatton. “ We are only come to ask you to 
play quadrilles for the dancers.” 

“ I am very sorry; but I have a violent headache, and 
should have been in bed long since, had my room been 
ready.” 

“ But since you are not in bed, my dear, I hope you will 
come; it will not detain you long.” 

“ Oh, do, Cecil dear!” cried Lotty caressingly, “ for I 
am to dance with Lord Fitz Elwyn, who is so good na- 
tured! And I am sure he likes you, for he seemed so 
pleased when I told him how much 1 loved you. It is my 


186 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


birth. day you know; and mamma will send me to bed di- 
rectly if you do not come.” 

“ I am very sorry, Lotty'; but I really have such a dread- 
ful hea'dache that I should not know what I was about; and 
run one tune into another.” 

“ 'i’hey would not be very particular as to the tune, my 
dear Miss Clare: but I never dreamed of your having such 
a headache, when I proposed asking you to play. You 
have been so lively all day that I thought you in unusual 
health and spirits.” 

Cecil had been lively all day for her own pleasure, though 
her head had been scarcely less free from pain than now. 
— and should she refuse to exert herself for the pleasure of 
others, when no more was required of her than playing a 
few quadrilles? She sighed for solitude and silence to still 
the pain that tortured her — she shrank from meeting those, 
whom she must encounter in the drawing-room, for Mrs. 
Ford’s manner was ever galling: but it would be selfish to 
refuse. 

“You will come — won’t you, dear Cecil?” cried Lotty 
seeing her hesitation. 

“ I will do my best; but I really am a poor thing, only fit 
for bed,” replied Cecil, rising to accompany them. 

“You are always kind and obliging. Miss Clare; and I 
am sorry I asked you to play, for you are looking very ill; 
I see it now that you are more in the light,” said Mrs. Hat- 
ton as they passed near a lamp in their way to the drawing- 
room. 

And Cecil was looking very ill — far dilferent from the 
Cecil Clare of the morning, or even of an hour since. 
That hour of thought and self-abandonment had done its 
work — she was as the ghost of her former self. When none 
were by the curb had been removed from memory, and 
memory had laid its iron grasp upon her heart and brow, 
leaving the traces of its might on both; and she had no longer 
bonnet or veil to conceal its raA'ages — not even a curl to 
shadow a portion of the face, for her straightened hair was 
now put simply back behind her ears, leaving every feature 
and passing expression open to observation. 

“ Thank you for coming to play to us,” said Maria Hat- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


137 


ton to Cecil, as she entered the room; “ 1 hope it will not 
increase your headache.” 

“ It can scarcely do that; but I am afraid I shall put you 
out by my mistakes.” 

“I have been most anxiously watching for your entrance; 
and now that you are come am half inclined to quarrel with 
my own selfishness in wishing for your presence — your 
pallid cheek so plainly speaks your suffering,” said Sir 
Thomas, advancing eagerly to meet her. “You were so 
playful, so animated up to the moment of our parting, that 
I could not divine your being tormented with a headache. 
What wonderful self-command you must possess!” 

“Not so: but action for a time prevents the conscious- 
ness of pain; and it is only when exertion is no longer 
needed that the body yields to suffering. This is a very 
philosophical explanation I flatter myself for my former 
animation, and present stupidity,” answered Cecil, forcing 
a smile though the throbbing of her temples was almost 
intolerable. 

“But you are not subject to headaches; you will be well 
to-morrow — shall you not?” inquired the baronet eagerly. 

“ I am not a prophet as well as a philosopher to engage 
for the future, she replied with a further attempt at gaiety. 
“ My head-aches, as in the present instance, generally arise 
from over exertion.” 

“ Now that Cecil has come, though against my advice, I 
must insist on her being kept as quiet as possible; and not 
* talked to; her paleness is absolutely frightful,” observed 
Mrs. Ford, stepping between her cousin and her guest, but 
using a blander tone than she generally employed, when 
speaking of, or to Miss Clare. 

“ To your place. Sir Thomas! we are waiting for you,” 
cried Beckington Ford, clapping his hands to enforce the 
summons. 

Sir Thomas obeyed; but not till he had placed the music 
stool for Cecil — put back the candles, as she complained of 
the light; and whispered his regret at not having her for 
his partner, to which last she replied by assuring him that 
she was not equal to dancing, a fact he could not doubt when 
he looked her in the face, and marked the unsteady move- 
ment of her fingers on the keys of the piano. 

12 * 


138 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


The quadrille concluded, Sir Thomas would have again 
sought Cecil, who retained her seat at the instrument; but 
he was instantly called to stand up in a waltz, which his 
partner took care should not be a short one; and that finish- 
ed, his host seized upon him to converse about some hunt- 
ers for sale in the neighborhood, and would not let him go, 
though he might easily have seen, and probably did see, 
that in spite of all his politeness, he was thoroughly weary 
of the subject, and fretting to be by the piano. 

Instead of waltzing. Lord Fitz Elwyn had taken a seat 
by Mrs. Hatton; but whilst ostensibly occupied with her 
he failed not to mark Cecil’s every movement. Miss Ford 
was soon weary of waltzing; and accidentally took the 
chair on his other side, so his hostess allowed him to sit 
still in peace. Refreshments were handed round when the 
waltzing had ceased; and all took some save the pale mu- 
sician, to whom none were offered. As the servant was 
passing her with the tray to leave the room, Cecil put out 
her hand for a glass of wine. The servant saw the motion; 
but, espying his mistress’s impertinence towards the gover- 
ness, instead of slopping, passed on the quicker. Lotty 
being engaged at the other end of the room did not observe 
the circumstance — her brother did and remarked on it to 
Miss Hatton with a sneering laugh, as Cecil, faint with 
pain and fatigue, turned away with a slight flush from the 
insolent domestic. The insulting laugh reached her quick 
ear; and sick at heart, and scarcely able to sit up she would 
have given worlds for the power of quitting the room; but 
felt unequal to the exertion of walking to the door. 

That mocking laugh had hardly died away, ere Lord 
Fitz Elwyn stood beside her with cake and wine. He had 
seen her distress — her drooping head; and with a glance 
that would have annihilated Mr. Beckington Ford, if .a 
nothing could be annihilated, had taken the tray of refresh- 
ments from the servant and brought it himself to Cecil. 

“You are not strong. Miss Clare, and have been over 
fatigued; allow me to recommend a little cake and wine,” 
he observed with a warmth — a devotion in his manner that 
filled Mrs. Ford and her daughters with envy. 

Could this really be Lord Fitz Elwyn, standing beside 
her playing the waiter, and speaking with such earnest. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


139 


anxious kindness, though with some slight mingling of 
hauteur as Cecil fancied? She ventured one glance at his 
features; and there read pity. She would have spoken — 
she would have thanked him; — but the words died on her 
lips unultered, and her hand shook so much as she at- 
tempted to take the wine, that his lordship assisted her in 
placing the glass on the piano before her; whilst Mrs. Ford, 
shocked at the viscount’s so demeaning himself, called 
sharply to the servant to take away the tray. 

“ Miss Ford has been asking me, Fitz Elwyn, why I 
called my yacht the Miranda? and learning in reply that the 
name was your choosing, and not mine, is now anxious to 
know what decided your choice,” said Sir Thomas Willer- 
ton, who, having broken away from the father, was laid 
hold of by the daughter. “I suspect that there is some 
fair lady in the case, you blush so prettily when you name 
the name,” he added to vex the questioner. “ What say 
you to that, Fitz.” 

“That I have not the honor of knowing any lady, who 
bears that appellation,” replied his lordship coldly, little 
pleased at the accusation. 

“ Perhaps not one who bears the name; but you may 
know one who admires it particularly. The fair daughter 
of a noble earl it may be, has been heard to remark on its 
beauty,” continued Sir Thomas VVillerton, to fully bent on 
teasing Miss Ford, to heed his friend’s increasing annoy- 
ance. 

“ You may have heard many fair ladies praise the name; 
and it has been a favorite play of mine from my child- 
hood,” replied Fitz Elwyn in some confusion, a confusion 
the more remarkable as forming such a contrast to his usual 
self-possession. 

“ Well, Fitz, I will not press you further now; but as we 
shall remain some time longer in the neighborhood, leave it 
to Miss Ford to extract the truth.” 

“ Is it really the name of an earl’s daughter?” questioned 
Miss Ford, lowering lier voice a little — but only a little. 

“ Not exactly; but there is a certain Lady B. who could 
throw some light on the subject, I have no doubt,” replied 
Sir Thomas in a confidential whisper, loud enough however 
to reach Cecil’s ears, who had been struggling against the 


140 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


faintness, which had so nearly overcome her; and now held 
the glass to her lips with a steady hand, and an air of reso- 
lute self command — some might have thought of pride. 

Lord Fitz Elwyn did not again address her; and Mrs. 
Ford forestalled his offer to put down her glass on a table 
near. 

I am delighted to hear that your lordship and Sir Tho- 
mas Willerton intend remaining some time in the neighbor- 
hood,” began Mrs. Ford, addressing the viscount, who 
looked inclined to deny the truth of the statement; but be- 
fore he could speak his friend had answered for him. 

“Not only intend to be some time in the neighborhood; 
but hope also to be much at Oakfield Villa, and see a great 
deal of the Fords,” replied the baronet, approaching his 
hostess not from admiration of her personal merits, but be- 
cause she was near the piano; and he wished to propitiate 
her for the sake of her cousin, whom he might otherwise 
find it difficult to meet. 

“ You do me great honor; we shall all be highly delight- 
ed,” cried the enraptured Mrs. Ford, including Lord Fitz 
Elwyn in her address, who, instead of participating in her 
pleasure, showed vexation at the announcement. 

“ This is very kind of you, Mrs. Ford. I am an imper- 
tinent fellow, I know; and my enemies say never forget 
that I am a young baronet with a clear income, and full 
freedom of choice on all points; but my friends never hint 
at such scandal; and to put your friendly feeling to the test, 
I invite all the party here assembled to accompany me to 
Freshwater Bay to morrow — weather permitting — to be 
on board the Miranda at eleven. All the ayes hold up their 
hands.” 

There was a general laugh; and every hand held up, but 
Cecil’s and Lord Fitz Elwyn’s. 

“ Cast une affaire Jiniej'' exclaimed the lively baronet, 
attempting to win a station near Cecil; but Mrs. Ford had 
other views. 

“ Are you going to dance any more? If so, do, Becking- 
ton arrange the set. I never saw'such idle dancers — it was 
not so in my young days.” Beckington took his mother’s 
hint, and the six couple were soon in their places, the baro- 
net and his friend though provoked at the manceuvre, being 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


141 


compelled to dance — the first with the eldest — the last with 
the second Miss Ford. 

“ I see you are quite knocked up, my dear Cecil. Just 
play this one set of quadrilles; and then you can steal 
quietly out of the room whilst the ladies and gentlemen are 
making their bows; and I will facilitate your retreat,” 
whispered Mrs. Ford to her poor cousin, who bowed her 
acquiescence. 

The set was concluded; and Cecil had just reached the 
door, when Sir Thomas sprang forward; and laying his 
hand on the lock as if to open it, detained her to listen to his 
regrets at her departure. 

“ Do not delay me now; my throbbing head pleads hard 
for rest;” said Cecil abruptly. 

“ I will not be so selfish as to keep you then; only pro- 
mise to join the party to-morrow, let who will endeavor to 
gainsay it.” 

“ I cannot have poor Cecil tormented,” interposed Mrs. 
Ford, whose movements had been nearly as quick as the 
baronet’s. 

“ Good night;” said Cecil availing herself of Mrs. Ford’s 
interposition to leave the room. 

“ I count on your presence to-morrow; — in fact, I go not 
without you,” whispered Sir Thomas following Cecil across 
the hall. 

Her only reply was the waving him back. 

“ I take this as a token of assent and shall dream of to- 
morrow’s pleasure” said the baronet, bowing a last adieu 
and retracing his steps. 

Soon after the guests departed, and those at home ^ selon 
les regies'^ began to comment on those who were gone! but 
as those comments generally exhibited little wit, and less 
good nature, as far as Cecil was concerned, we shall only 
mention an observation of Mrs. Hatton’s, who alone spoke 
in favor of the absent governess. 

“ I never saw any one so struck at first sight as Sir Tho- 
mas Willerton with Miss Clare. That will be a match I 
can see; and I am heartily glad of it, for she is a very plea- 
sant, obliging young woman.” 

“ Depend upon it you are mistaken, my dear Mrs. Hat- 
ion; Sir Thomas is only amusing himself for the moment 


142 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


A baronet, young, rich, and good looking as he is, would 
never choose a beggar, the daughter of a ruined man. It 
would have been far better if Cecil had not flirted so with 
him, doing all she could to attract his attention. I hate to 
see young women forward,” exclaimed the vexed Mrs. 
Ford. 

“ Time will show who is in the right,” replied Mrs. 
Hatton; “ and you really should not accuse Miss Clare of 
flirting, for, though very animated, her manner was so lady- 
like and even dignified, as to command the most perfect res- 
pect; whilst, instead of seeking the baronet’s attentions he 
forced them on her.” 

‘ “Ah! my dear Mrs. Hatton; you do not know Miss 
Clare as I do,” remarked Mrs. Ford with a deep sigh and 
mysteriou's look, as if Cecil’s secret wickedness had caused 
her inconceivable agony. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


143 


CHAPTER X. 

“She is an angel! and shall be my wife within six 
months,” exclaimed Sir Thomas Willerton, after walking 
some time by his friend’s side in silence. 

“ Who is an angel?” asked Fitz Elwyn, roused, by this 
unexpected burst, from a deep reverie. 

“ Who is an angel? who should be an angel, but Miss 
Clare? You do not think there is any thing angelic about 
the Fords do you?” 

“ Certainly not; but different people have different ideas 
of angels,” replied the viscount with a quiet sarcasm, which 
provoked his friend. 

“ Different ideas truly! I marvel how you could behold 
such perfection with such stoical coldness; or worse than 
coldness; for you looked quite harsh and fierce sometimes; 
but it is all as well as it is, for your being my rival here 
would neither please me nor Lady Barbara. I repeat it — 
Miss Clare shall be my wife within six months.” 

“Indeed!” observed Fitz Elwyn in a tone of irritating 
incredulity. 

“ Yes indeed! Why do you doubt it?” 

“ Only because this is the fifty-fifth young lady about 
whose perfections (all discovered at first or second sight,) 
you have bored me, declaring that each should be your 
wife.” 

“ That is a scandalous libel, Fitz Elwyn,” exclaimed 
the baronet, reddening at the charge. “ I never said so of 
more than three.” 

“ Three — umph! we will count them fairly — Miss In- 
nis — Miss Mitford — Miss — ” 

“ Stop, stop, Fitz Elwyn; do let the girls alone; it is not 
delicate to bring in their names in this way,” interposed 
the baronet, conscious of the infirmity of raving about 


144 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


young ladies one week, and being indifferent about them 
the next. “ All I ever said before was nonsense; — forget 
it, as I intend to do; — I entertain a totally different feeling 
for Miss Clare; pity, love, respect, and admiration all min- 
gled together. People may say what they will; but there 
is certainly such a thing as love at first sight.” 

“ Romeo and Juliet to wit; vide Shakspeare,” observed 
the viscount drily. 

“ You may laugh as you please; but 1 say again — Miss 
Clare shall be my wife.” 

“ So you said of Miss Thelwall.” 

“ Psha! how provoking you are! you know that girl 
was an arrant flirt.” 

“ You told me she was perfection.” 

“ I told you nonsense then; but Miss Clare is a totally 
different person.” 

“ Does she approve of, and share your feelings?” 

“ How can you ask such a question, Fitz? What makes 
you so stupid to-night? As if I could venture on a declara- 
tion at a first meeting to such a girl as Cecil Clare? She 
received my attentions as I wished; and she shall be mine. 
Laugh as you may at the suddenness of the passion, the 
happiness of my whole life is in her keeping; I shall be 
miserable without her.” 

Fitz Elwyn neither laughed nor reproved; but walked on 
towards Key Haven with a quicker step. 

The silence was at length broken by Sir Thomas, again 
speaking abruptly on the only subject that now occupied 
his thoughts. 

“ I rely on your friendship to assist me in winning her, 
Fitz Elwyn.” 

“ Pardon me, Willerton. I have neither tact nor incli- 
nation for such an office.” 

“ You need not speak so sharply; 1 only want you to 
keep Mrs. Ford and her daughters a little in play, to give 
me opportunity for my wooing.” 

“ A modest request truly!” 

“ I will not say much for its modesty; but I would do 
that, and far more to promote your happiness.” 

“ I am not certain that this would promote your happi- 
ness.” 


THE "QUIET HUSBAND. 


145 


“ I have no fear of a rejection, if that is what you mean; 
my wooing has hitherto sped as prosperously as I could 
desire; and though she may in her prosperity have looked 
for a coronet, as some assert, though I do not believe it, for 
she seems far too high-minded to wed for rank or wealth, a 
bloody hand may content her now. In fine, whether you 
aid me, or not — mine she shall be.” 

“ Bakalum! as the Turks say,” observed his friend. 

“ Yes, we shall see? You are too honorable to endeavor 
to supplant me.” 

“ Fear not that,” replied Filz Elwyn haughtily. 

“ If you do not keep that poor cousin of yours more in 
the back ground, she will become Lady Willerton; and you 
lose your governess,” remarked Mr. Ford, sinking into an 
easy chair in his wife’s dressing room. 

“ What can I do? This is the only day that she has 
seen strangers; and I could neither anticipate meeting ^the 
baronet, nor his taking such a foolish fancy to her, sickly 
as she looks.” 

“ You may do what you please; I only warn you to do 
something. I will not give more than twenty pounds a- 
year for a governess, that I can tell you; so if you cannot 
get one for that, you, or the elder girls, must teach the 
younger ones; for there is no money to pay for their school- 
ing. I want to buy Hilson’s hunter, and some of his cla- 
ret; and have no spare cash to waste on teaching girls to 
squall and strum on the piano. What good does it do? 
Does it get them husbands? Hundreds have bepn spent on 
Ann and Susan; and yet they are still Fords. They had 
better marry soon, or their fortunes may not bb forthcom- 
ing. Beckington has managed very well for himself with 
the little money left by his grandmother; and the girls must 
take example from him. I have no office now remember; 
and am not going to abridge my comforts to buy them hus- 
bands. — You must keep the girl more under; — with that 
independent air no one can take her for a governess.” 

“ I wish you would try and keep her under, my dear, 
for I cannot.” 

“ Excuse me, my love; I never meddle with govern- 
esses: wife and children are quite enough forme to manage. 

VoL. I.— 13 


146 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


I never before knew you to fail in keeping a dependant 
under.” 

“ Cecil is not a dependant; she has an allowance of a 
hundred a year; and were I to strain the cord but the quar- 
ter of an inch tighter she would rebel and be off, which 
would be a pity, for she gets the children on amazingly. 
She is so much prettier and prouder than I expected, that I 
doubt the wisdom of having invited her; but you advised, 
nay almost insisted on it.” 

“ That is right, my dear; always lay the blame on my 
advice, instead of your own inefficient acting. As I said 
before, you must keep the girl under.” 

“ I can do no more than I have already done; she is as 
proud as — ” 

“Lucifer! I know that, my dear; but still a clever per- 
son might accomplish it, though she has much of her fa- 
ther’s indomitable spirit. You must control her through 
that father; tell her all the evil that has been, or may be 
said of him — convince her that there will not be enough to 
pay his creditors — rouse her pride about being dependent 
on the Ashtons, who must be fools to make her such an al- 
lowance; — but first and foremost prevent her going to Fresh 
Water Bay to-morrow, for the baronet is so deeply smitten 
that by playing her cards well, she might hamper him with 
an engagement before another day. And now having given 
you warning and advice, I leave you to act upon them,” 
added Mr. Ford, rising with some effort from his easy chair, 
and passing on into an inner room. His wife pondered on 
his words; and then proceeded to act on her deliberations. 

Cecil’s strength was barely sufficient to enable her to 
reach her garret, where, sinking on her bed, she lay for 
some time without moving in a state bordering on insensi- 
bility. The noise made by the servants in retiring to their 
apartments, which were adjoining hers, roused her to fresh 
exertions; and faint and dizzy with pain and exhaustion 
she hastened to lay her aching head on the pillow, though 
hopeless of sleep, at least for hours to come. But she 
should be in silence and darkness; with no unkind prying 
eyes to mark her agony, and no unkind and bitter tongue 
to comment on her looks and words. Poor Cecil! her 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


147 


quiet was to be again disturbed — silence and darkness were 
to bring her little peace. 

Her light had not been extinguished many minutes, be- 
fore there came a tap at her door; and ere she could say 
“ come in” Mrs. Ford had entered the room, and, placing 
her candle on the table so that the light fell full on her 
cousin’s face, seated herself in a chair by the bed. 

“ What is the matter?” exclaimed Cecil starting up in 
alarm at this unexpected and unwelcome visit. 

“Nothing; so do not put yourself in a fright without a 
cause. I only thought that what I have to say might be 
better said to-night, hoping to find you still up.” 

“ If it is nothing very material, I would rather you de- 
ferred the communication till to-morrow, as the throbbing 
of my temples will make me dull of comprehension; and I 
am really in need of rest,” said Cecil, vexed at being thus 
broken in on when she had hoped the trials of the day were 
over. 

“ I think it better to speak to you to-night,” replied Mrs. 
Ford in that cold and haughty tone from which Cecil knew 
there was no appeal. 

“ It must be as you please then, madam; and I can only 
beg you to be brief.” 

“ I am no such great talker that you need dread a long 
discourse; and it is my commiseration for your headache 
that brings me here at this hour. I came to say that you 
had better breakfast in bed to-morrow; and not get up till 
twelve or one o’clock.” 

“ I shall be very thankful for the indulgence,” answered 
Cecil, wondering for the instant at such unusual consider- 
ation. 

“ I am glad to see yon willing for on(^e to take my ad- 
vice, my dear Cecil; and hope to find you equally reason- 
able on other points,” remarked Mrs. Ford more kindly, a 
little mollified by this ready acquiescence. “ Your con- 
duct towards Sir Thomas Willerton, I am sorry to say, 
attracted general observation, and caused many comments; 
so many indeed that, setting aside any consideration for 
the children’s lessons, you could not with any regard to 
delicacy and propriety form one of the party to-morrow; 
your headache will furnish a good and sufficient excuse for 
your absence.” 


148 - 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“Quite sufficient, without referring to your remarks on 
my conduct, which I value as they deserve. I never in- 
tended to join the party to-morrow; and shall spend part 
of the day in writing to Mrs. Ashton; requesting her to 
arrange for my immediate return.” 

“ I cannot hear of that, my dear; as your nearest rela- 
tive, this is your proper home,” replied Mrs. Ford, after a 
moment’s pause of doubt, rising to leave the room and thus 
preventing further discussion. 

“ Pardon me; but I am resolute as to departing,” said 
Cecil firmly. 

“ And what reason will you assign for this?” demanded 
Mrs. Ford, coloring with anger; and with difficulty re- 
straining its expression. 

“ The true one.” 

“Indeed! Will you say that you are resolved to throw 
yourself into the arms of a wild young baronet, who is only 
making game of you, and that I am striving to prevent it?” 

“No, Mrs. Ford; that, as you well know, would not be 
the truth. I shall say that finding myself an unwelcome 
guest at Oakfield Villa, I shall be delighted to return to my 
kind friends at Ashton Grove.” 

“ What fancy is this, my dear, that you have got into 
your head? Is this your gratitude for all my kindness?” 

“ Kindness, Mrs. Ford! I have seen none; and it is time 
that we should understand each other,” replied Cecil, sitting 
upright in the bed, indignation nerving her to the painful 
explanation though her head was still aching violently; and 
her cheek pearly as white as the frill that partly shadowed 
it. “You invited me hither as a guest and relative, pro- 
fessing friendship; but I have met with nothing save slight 
and insult. Instead of a guest you would make me a de- 
pendant, and convert your dearly loved cousin into a drudge 
with all the penalties of servitude, and none of its allevia- 
tions. I have taught your children to acquit myself of the 
little I owe you for poor lodging and scanty food; but I 
neither am, nor will be your governess, as you have de- 
scribed me to others. After this explanation, the sooner 
we part the more agreeable I conclude it will be to all; I 
shall write to-morrow to prepare the Ashtons for my re- 
turn; and if you will be kind enough to procure me a fit- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


149 


ting attendant for the journey will free you from my pre- 
sence on the succeeding day.” 

For some moments Mrs. Ford was silent from surprise 
and rage at her poor cousin’s audacity. That Cecil was 
no irresolute simpleton she had long since discovered; but 
such firmness and decision were beyond her expectation, 
and very contrary to her wishes. Such rank and open re- 
bellion must be checked at once; and her anger overcame 
all scruples as to the mode of subduing it. 

“ You have favored me with one explanation Miss Clare, 
and I will return it with another; and should my commu- 
nication prove the most painful, you will have none but 
yourself to blame. You are a beggar — an absolute beggar 
— living upon alms! Your father’s property will not an- 
swer the claims of his creditors; and the allowance you 
receive from the Ashtons is wrung from them by their pii3^.« 
You are angry at my honest statement, and would tell rffe 
that my words are false — They are true; and had the Ash- 
tons not hurried you away from Liverpool, you would have 
learnt their truth from the general reprobation of your fa- 
ther’s ostentatious pride, and gambling speculations, and 
your mother’s weakness and love of luxury. 

“ Say what you will of me, madam; but speak not one 
word against my beloved and respected parents. Show 
some regard for the feelings of an orphan,” exclaimed the 
indignant Cecil. 

“It is needful that you should know the truth; and I 
tell no more,” replied Mrs. Ford, a little awed by her re- 
monstrance; but still resolute in pursuing her ungenerous 
purpose. “ Since you doubt my word, peruse that letter, 
an answer to one from Mr. Ford, inquiring into your con- 
dition and prospects. You will tliere find that your father 
has brought ruin on many who have cause to execrate his 
memory.” 

The letter was from an angry creditor, written in an angry 
spirit; and Cecil clasped her hands in agony as she read 
the closing imprecations on her parent. There was no 
date; and if there had been, she was in no state of mind to 
mark its bearing on the subject: the bitter comments on 
her own pride and ambition even were scarcely noted — she 
only felt — she only comprehended that her father was 

13 * 


150 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


charged with dishonesty, and her mother made a partner in 
his crime either from weakness, or a love of show. It 
had in fact been written within a week after Mr. Clare’s 
sudden decease, during the most exaggerated rumors of his 
debts and speculations, but his child was much too agitated 
to consider that such might be the case. 

“You are shocked, Cecil, as well you may be,” observed 
Mrs. Ford more kindly, half alarmed at the effects of her 
communication. “ I should not have shown you this letter, 
but for your evident doubts of my veracity; and the neces- 
sity for your understanding your real situation, that you may 
justly appreciate my conduct, and the wisdom of my ad- 
vice. To leave you a dependant on the bounty and pity of 
strangers was not to be thought of; and we considered it 
the kindest plan to invite you hither as a guest; and gradu- 
lead you to a clear comprehension of the truth, at the 
same time providing you with a pleasing and useful occupa- 
tion, that should preclude any painful feeling of dependence. 
This friendly purpose your own pride and impatience have 
in some manner thwarted, compelling me to a more abrupt 
and open revelation of the truth than I had intended; but 
the blame of this must rest on yourself.” 

Mrs. Ford paused for a reply; but Cecil was silent, only 
pressing her hand to her head as if she would still its ach- 
ing; or that she might more clearly comprehend what had 
been said to her; and her cousin continued assuming a still 
more friendly tone as she proceeded. “ You see, my dear 
Cecil, the impossibility of remaining a pensioner of the 
Ashtons, who, having a large family of their own, can not 
in justice continue to allow you a hundred a year, though 
their pity might prompt the wish.” 

“I feel that,” replied Cecil in a tone which must have 
melted any one but Mrs, Ford, and her equally selfish 
husband. 

“ I was sure that when once informed of the truth, your 
good sense would lead you to agree with me, my dear. 
And now we will end this painful discussion. You have 
too independent a spirit to eat the bread of idleness; — here 
you will have a comfortable home; — the girls, who are 
are much attached to you, will improve rapidly under your 
tuition; and you are certain of receiving every kindness 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


151 


from me and mine. So good night, love; forget all that 
has passed — sleep soundly; and I will send up your break- 
fast in, the morning.” 

So saying Mrs. Ford would have kissed her poor cousin; 
but Cecil drew back from the Judas salute, her indignation 
supplying the words that had before been checked, from the 
shock caused by the perusal of that distressing letter. 

“ No, madam, I will not eat the bread of idleness; but 
neither will I remain beneath the roof of one, who could 
so outrage an orphan’s affection for her lost parents. The 
Ashtons will procure me the situation of governess in some 
other family.” 

“ Beware, Cecil, how you bring suspicion on your own 
fair fame; and the f^e of your mother,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Ford relapsing into her former anger. “ The world is 
already busy with its hundred longues inquiring why 
Ashton, who is no relation, should have been summoned m 
the death-bed of Mrs. Clare, and her daughter committed to 
his charge; whilst gossips whisper, that Cecil Clare — the 
orphan — the beggar — the child of a dishonored father — has 
sufficient cunning to redeem her fallen fortunes by a union 
with the heir of Ashton Grove. As your nearest relative, 
it is alike my duty and my inclination to prevent any scan- 
dal resting on your mother.” 

“ I will not thank you for this care, madam; since it is 
neither needed nor felt. My mother’s fame is above the 
breath of malice; and there can be nothing strange in con- 
fiding her unprotected daughter to the guardianship of her 
father’s ward, the companion of her childhood. As for 
seeking a union with the heir of Ashton Grove, that is a 
charge beneath consideration; no one but yourself would 
entertain such a suspicion. And now, if you please, let 
this painful discussion end as you proposed; for I am ill 
able to endure a prolonged conversation.” 

“Show not so much pride and obstinacy, Cecil; it is 
highly dangerous for a young and unprotected female to 
brave the opinion of the world, which, I am sorry to say, 
you seem inclined to do in more than one instance. The 
general voice proclaims that Ashton Grove is no fitting 
abode for you; accept therefore the home which once again 
I offer you.” 


152 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ No, no: I cannot stay here,” exclaimed Cecil, with a 
wildness that alarmed her cousin. 

“Compose yourself, my dear; at least make no decision 
— take no step till after to-morrow; — you are not in a state 
to judge wisely now. Should your wishes remain the 
same a day or two hence I will do my utmost to procure 
you a comfortable situation.” 

“ So let it rest then,” said Cecil, ready to consent to 
almost any thing that would free her from the presence of 
her unfeeling relative. 

“Good night then once more, dear Cecil; you only re- 
quire time and reflection to judge and act correctly,” ob- 
served Mrs. Ford, leaving the room without waiting for a 
reply, and wilhont again offering a kiss to her high spirited 
governess. 

„ “ She will be hard to manage and never submit to my 
mnmands I fear. Perhaps it would be better to yield the 
point; and let her go at once; but I doubt if Sir Thomas 
Willerton would come, save for the hope of seeing her, so 
she must remain as a lure for some days at least, and yet be 
kept out of his way, which last she would have me believe is 
her own wish. I am not to be so easily deceived; but I could 
rule ten others better than this beggar, whose pride is as 
great as before her fall, speaking and looking as though she 
were more than my equal,” said Mrs. Ford to her husband, 
on rejoining him after her interview with Cecil, her eyes 
flashing with anger as she spoke. 

“Yon must manage all that as you best can, my dear; 
only don’t teaze me with your cousin’s tantrums; for I am 
very sleepy. By the bye; I wish you would speak to the 
cook about that veal-pie we had to-day. I like things more 
highly seasoned. She does not take as much pains as she 
did at first; and that is the way with them all. I wish we 
had Tyrrell’s cook; she is a capital hand I” 

“And capital wages, too, Mr. Ford. Sixty guineas a 
year! — and yet you cannot afford a governess -for your 
daughters.” 

“ What is the use of the girls squalling and strumming? 
Men think much more of a good dinner, depend upon it; 
«o mind you speak to the cook,” replied Mr. Ford, settling 
himself for sleep as he concluded. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


153 


Cecil listened with haggard features and glaring eye till 
she could no longer hear the fall of Mrs. Ford’s slippered 
foot on the creaking staircase; then certain that she was 
once more alone, she sank back on the pillow, looking more 
like a marble statue than a living, feeling woman. Her 
head ached as before — no tears relieved her bitter agony; 
and that hatetul letter with her cousin’s triumphant look 
was ever before her eyes, and ever uppermost in her be- 
wildered mind. Was it true what that man had written? 
Was it true what her cousin had said? Was her father 
branded with dishonor? Had he brought ruin on many, 
by fraudulent and unholy gambling? Did the world really 
whisper scandal of h^r mother on account of her sojourn 
at Ashton Grove? And must she leave the only friends to 
whom she could look for shelter? She tried to weigh each 
circumstance fairly, though her throbbing temples and 
stricken heart made this no easy task. It w^as beyond 
her power — the shock had been too great for thought — her 
head was bewildered — she felt intensely, but she could not 
argue clearly:— a heavy weight seemed pressing on her 
chest — she breathed with difficulty, whilst gibbering forms 
flittered before her face. She rose, and throwing on her 
dressing gown sat at the window with her forehead resting 
on the sill. The stars shone bright in the tranquil sky; 
and the murmur of the tide came up from the dark blue 
sea; but that murmur soothed her not as it had done on the 
first night of her arrival; its hoarse monotonous whisper 
chafed her troubled spirit; and she put her hands to her 
ears to shut out the sound; — its regularity seemed a re- 
proach to her restlessness. How differently do we judge 
of sounds and sights according to our own varying feelings! 

After a while she grew more composed — more capable 
of thought and reflection; and the future gradually opened 
on her view. There might be — there probably was some 
truth in what Mrs. Ford had said; but there was doubtless 
also considerable exaggeration, if not invention to gratify 
that lady’s anger, and turn Cecil to her purpose. Those 
who had suffered from her father’s losses, might, in their 
vexation say bitter things against the unintentional cause of 
that suffering, which her hasty departure from Liverpool 
had saved her the pain of hearing; but she would not be-*' 


154 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


lieve without further proof that the offered kindness of the 
Ashtons, and her acceptance of it, would make herself or 
her mother, the subject of malicious remarks; and her own 
conscience acquitted her of any attempt to win the affec- 
tions of the heir. Still to remain there as a dependant was 
not to be thought of; she had talents — accomplishments — 
and she would exert them to gain a livelihoood; but not at 
Oakfield Villa, — she would leave that as soon as she could; 
and if possible not return to Ashton Grove. But how to 
avoid one of these alternatives, at least for a time, w’as be- 
yond her power to devise; so she put off the consideration 
till the morrow, having engaged to take no step in further- 
ance of her plans, till she had again spoken to Mrs. Ford. 
She was ill — very ill, and might not live long; and she 
should leave none to mourn her but the Ashtons; and they 
Avould soon forget her. 

She was not aware of the time she had sat at the window 
with her head bowed, and her eyes closed but not in sleep; 
and when she looked up the stars had left the sky; and the 
morning light was waxing fuller and fuller every moment, 
for it was nearly midsummer, and the nights were short. 
She looked to the east where the golden sun was rising 
rapidly above the horizon. Its beauty pained her. There 
was no joyous dawn for her — her sun had set for ever, and 
the darkness of night was coming on. She looked towards 
Alum Bay; she gazed on the cliffs up which she had 
climbed on the preceding day— on the spot from wdience 
she had watched the approach of the Miranda — where she 
had stood when introduced to Lord Fitz Elwyn and Sir 
Thomas Willerton; — a sunbeam shot across it as she 
gazed, throwing it out into picturesque relief; — tear after 
tear rolled unheeded down her pallid cheeks; — one fell on 
the hand that rested in her lap. She started — looked down 
at the glistening tear, then up again at that bright point; but 
the sunbeam was gone, and it was no brighter than the 
cliffs around; — she covered her face with her hands, and 
her choking sobs bespoke her agony. Still that weeping 
was a relief — it cooled her burning brow — it relieved her 
maddening brain; and gradually those sobs grew fainter and 
fainter; and she began to be conscious of the chillness of 
the morning air. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


155 


Without another glance towards Alum Bay, she drew 
the window curtain close, sighing as she did so; then seek- 
ing her bed and turning away from the light, endeavored to 
obtain the repose of which she stood so much in need. It 
was some time before it came; but when it did it was heavy, 
so heavy that she heard none of the banging of doors, which 
had before disturbed her morning’s slumbers; and was not 
even aware of Lotty’s coming into her room to bring her 
breakfast. 

The whole of the party were to have assembled at Key 
Haven by half past ten; but long before that time Sir Tho- 
mas Willerton and Lord Fitz Elwyn were at the gate, 
leading to Oakfield Villa; and Lotty, who was playing in 
the garden, immediately ran towards them. 

“ How is Miss Clare?” asked the baronet eagerly. 

“ Dear Cecil is fast, asleep; I have been into her room 
twice, and yet she did not wake; and she is looking so 
white! just like the sheet — and breathing so heavily!” 

“ The fatigue of yesterday was too much for her; she 
must have advice,” observed Sir Thomas anxiously, whilst 
the viscount stooped to pick a flower. 

“ Mamma says her sleeping so soundly is a good thing, 
and that she will get up quite well; and I will be sure and 
tell her how kindly you asked after her,” said Lotty look- 
ing arch. 

“ Then she could not have gone, had we been going,” 
observed the baronet coloring slightly. 

“ No; she told mamma last night that she should not go; 
but all the others will be ready in a minute, except j^e; and 
I shall stay to nurse dear Cecil.” 

“ You are a good, kind little creature,” cried Sir Tho- 
mas, looking very much as if he would have caught her up 
in his arms and hugged her, if she had not been quite so 
fat. “ You will lose nothing by your kindness, since the 
party must be deferred — positively deferred — must it not, 
Fitz Elwyn?” 

“ Undoubtedly;” replied the viscount with a wreathing 
of the lips, that was a smile — yet not a smile. If it meant 
to mock his friend, it appeared still more to mock himself. 

“ Good morning, my lord. Good morning. Sir Thomas. 
You are early, but we shall be ready for you in no time. It 


156 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


is very kind of you to come and fetch us,” began Mrs. 
Ford, advancing to meet the gentlemen, fearful that Lolty 
might say what she would wish unsaid. 

“ I am very sorry; but I am come to announce that the 
party must be put off,” replied Sir Thomas Willerton; “ the 
wind is veering about — the sky growing wilder every 
instant; — and my best seamen predict a day the very re- 
verse of what one would desire for a water excursion.” 

“ Boatmen are always timid; and our glass stands so 
high, that I should feel no fear in venturing,” said Mrs. 
Ford, who, having secured Cecil’s absence, was resolved if 
possible not to be baulked of the party, which she antici- 
pated would give her daughters a chance of achieving titles. 

“ It is quite out of the question I assure you, Mrs. Ford. 
Watson is not at all timid; and says it will be impossible to 
take ladies onboard to-day,” replied Sir 'J'homas resolutely, 
Cecil’s illness settling the point, which had before been 
doubtful; and which was to have been referred to her. 

In vain did Mrs. Ford and her daughters declare that they 
were no cowards and should not fear to venture, the baronet 
stood firm, couching his refusal to take them in such flatter- 
ing terms as could not offend; and Fitz Elwyn, proving as 
immoveable, the party was at length given up; Sir Thomas 
laughingly proposing that as a compensation, he should 
stay with them on land, instead of their going with him on 
the water, a proposition joyfully acceded to; and in which 
the viscount was considered to be included, though he had 
taken no active part in the question. 

Ligh||,showers with a brisk wind proving the truth of 
Watson^ predictions, the Fords submitted to the disap- 
pointment with a better grace; and did their best to amuse 
their guests; but the baronet could not help an occasional 
yawn, as he made a show of listening to Susan’s unmean- 
ing prattle, but ever keeping a sharp look out towards the 
doors though no Cecil made her appearance; whilst Fitz 
Elwyn, heartily weary of Miss Ford’s silliness, challenged 
Mr. Hatton to a game of chess. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


1S7 


CHAPTER XL 

“ What is the matter?” inquired Emma Ashton in alarm, 
as Robert burst into the room where she was silling at work, 
throwing back the door behind him with a violence that 
shook the house. 

“ Has any thing happened to Edward?” questioned his 
mother, starling up, and thereby causing herself consider- 
able pain, having lately sprained her ankle and in conse- 
quence been confined to the house. 

“ No;” answered Robert, flinging himself into a chair, and 
fanning himself violently with his hat. 

“ Then Charles and Sarah have met with some acci- 
dent.” 

“ No, no, my dear mother; your children are all as well 
though they were annuitants, and those never die,” replied 
Robert impatiently. 

“ Then what is the matter, for you are so very odd there 
is no making any thing out?” 

“ I am in a rage, my dear mother, that is all; a grand, 
heroical, towering rage.” 

“What! Purcell’s pigs have been in the turnip field again, 
I suppose; — that comes of my being confined to the 
house.” 

“ Hang Purcell, and his pigs, and the turnips too. Do 
you suppose that I should be in a rage if all the turnip fields 
in the world were eaten up, or trodden down?” exclaimed 
her son in high irritation. 

“ For shame, Robert, to speak so rashly. What w'ould 
the poor sheep do in the winter, if there were no turnips?” 
remarked Mrs. Ashton reprovingly, whilst her husband 
looked up from his book, wondering at such a superabun- 
dance of energy; and then resumed his reading, never con- 
VoL. I. — 14 


158 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


sidering that to his indolence might be attributed many of 
his children’s faults. 

If Mrs. Ashton was fidgety and fussy from an over sup- 
ply of activity, Mr. Ashton was remiss in his social and 
paternal duties from natural indolence, and an increasing 
dread of exertion. He never said an unkind word to his 
wife; but he never reproved his children for disrepect to their 
mother, to whom, however, they were all really much at- 
tached. 

“ What has made you so angry then? Has Flinter? — ” 

“ No, no; Flinter and Purcell’s pigs seem vos betes 
noires. I am in a rage about Cecil Clare. Those wretches 
of cousins have degraded her into a governess to their stu- 
pid, ignorant, troublesome children, telling every one that 
her father was a great rogue; and she a beggar; and then 
boasting of their charity and kindness in affonling her a 
garret to sleep in — the corner of a dull school-room to sit 
in — with bread and milk for breakfast, and potatoes and 
hashed mutton for dinner.” 

“ Impossible! Who told you this? Is it really true? — 
Poor Cecil! — I do not wonder at your being in such a 
rage!” — cried all his hearers, their different remarks min- 
gling strangely together. 

“ It is true; for I had it from Skinner, who is just come 
from the neighborhood; and met the Fords at dinner. It 
was as much as I could help quarrelling with the fellow, 
when he added with a sneering laugh, that it would do her 
good — bring down her pride.” 

“I never liked Mr. Skinner; and shall detest him now;” 
cried the warm hearted Emma. “ I was afraid dear Cecil 
was not happy from her letters; but she never hinted a 
word of -this.” 

“ Why did not she come back the moment she found'*' 
herself uncomfortable?” said Mrs. Ashton. “ She knows 
we should all be delighted to have her here again.” 

“ Cecil Clare is one who would rather bear or conquer 
than complain; and if that wretch of a woman put it into 
her head that she will inherit nothing from her father, ten 
to one but she has some fancy that it would be mean and 
indelicate to return to us, and that she is called on to work 
for her living; I never knew a more independent spirit.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


159 


“ Poor child, I hope she has no fancies of that sort; she 
should know us better; and understand how much we all 
love her. But what is to be done? I would go to her 
iuMnediately, but Mr. Larkins forbids my moving, I can 
write at any rate, and entreat her to come back,” said Mrs. 
Ashton. 

“ Would it not be better, sir, if you went down to Mil- 
ford having been appointed her guardian by jMrs. Clare? — 
She might resist a letter,” observed Robert, addressing his 
father whose book had fallen from his hand, at his son’s 
announcement. 

“ I was just thinking of that, Robert,” replied Mr. Ash- 
ton. 

“ Then shall I order the carriage at once, sir? And I can 
go too and save you the trouble of paying the postboys and 
people. We can stop at Dorchester coming back, and see 
Blackwall on the business he wrote about a fortnight since. 
You should not put off the journey, for Skinner tells me 
that Cecil is looking dreadfully ill.” 

“ I have no wish to put it off and shall be ready in half 
an hour. There has never been any delay where Cecil’s 
welfare was concerned,” replied Mr. Ashton, considering 
his son’s words as intended to convey a reproach for his 
usual dilatoriness. 

“ No, sir, there never has. I wish you showed as much 
energy in your own concerns!” observed Robert frankly, 
yet respectfully. “ Mr. Blackwall has been waiting an 
answer for some days; and his interest may procure a com- 
mission for Charles.” 

“ You are so quick yourself, Robert, that you think 
every one else is slow. Order the carriage; we can go 
one or two stages before dark.” 

“ I will scrawl a few lines to Cecil, and scold her for 
not writing to say that she was miserable,” cried Emma. 

“ And tell her from me, that I will not hear of her slay- 
ing away any longer,” added Mrs. Ashton. 

“ I am afraid she has had a great deal to endure from 
the Fords, and is much worse than when she went; so we 
must pet her the more,” observed Robert as he quitted the 
room. 

It was about two o’clock of the day after the excursion 


160 


THE QUIET HUSBAKD. 


to Alum Bay, that the Ashtons arrived at Oakfield Villa; 
and heard in answer to their inquiry if Miss Clare was at 
home, that the servant would go and see. 

Encountering his mistress in the hall the man repeaj,ed 
Mr. Ashton’s message, and received directions to show the 
visitors into the drawing room, and say that Miss Clare 
would join them immediately. 

No guests could at that moment have been more unwel- 
come to Mrs. Ford, who had just been playing the bland 
to the lately risen Cecil; — inquiring after her headache — 
offering her delicacies to tempt her appetite — and doing her 
utmost, without absolutely referring to the subject, to in- 
duce her to remain as her governess. This unexpected 
visit, though she never guessed its determined purpose, 
threatened ill for her plan; but if she could prevent the 
Ashtons from seeing her cousin, save in her presence, all 
might go right; and hence her order for their being ushered 
into the drawing-room, whither she hastened, overpower- 
ing them with the cordiality of her reception. 

The weather having cleared a little her titled beaux and 
most of the rest of the party had set off to walk till dinner, 
Mrs. Hatton alone being left in the drawing-room, whose 
penetration never alarmed her friends. To prevent Cecil’s 
having any private conversation with the Ashtons, and to get 
rid of them before the return of the walkers, so that the 
baronet might not increase his penchant by a second inter- 
view, was Mrs. Ford’s determination; but Mrs. Ford with 
all her diplomatic skill, and honied politeness, was not om- 
nipotent; rain would come, when she did not desire it 

and lovers seek their lady loves despite her scheming. 

In vain did she endeavor to make herself very agreeable 
to Mr. Ashton and his son. The former said little, but 
looked with evident anxiety at Cecil’s pallid cheeks, and 
heavy eyes; whilst the latter so completely mystified his 
hostess with his eccentric manner — now blunt — now com- 
plimentary, that, like his mother, she could make nothing 
of him. But these were minor evils; the whole day was 
to be “ one link of contraries.” She had not enacted the 
part of the fascinating hostess half an hour, scarcely letting 
Cecil put in a word, when a heavy rain pattered against 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


161 


the glass; and the whole walking party were seen running 
towards the house for shelter. 

Mrs. Ford started up to prevent their entering the draw- 
ing-room; but before^ she could reach the door it was 
thrown open by Sir Thomas Willerton, who, having caught 
a glimpse of Cecil through the window, advanced to greet 
her with an empressemenfi that left his high regard no mat- 
ter of debate. 

“You cannot think how anxiously I have been hoping 
to see you,” he began, taking her hand heedless or uncon- 
scious of the presence of others. “ I ceased to regret the 
change of the weather, when I found that you could not 
join the parly. But is your headache really belter, as Lot- 
ty assured me?” 

“Yes, much better; and I have to thank you for your 
obliging inquiries,” answered Cecil with some little con- 
fusion, feeling that more than one pair of eyes was on her, 
for though she could not fail to be touched by his friendly 
interest, she shrank from attracting observation. Others 
had by this time entered the room, laughing at the sprink- 
ling, and breathless with the run. Mrs. Ford felt herself 
compelled to introduce her son to the Ashtons; and then 
she did the like with her daughters and guests, in the hope 
of separating Sir Thomas from her cousin’s side; but in- 
troduce and fidget as she would, there he still was, and 
would remain, every look, every word proclaiming his 
admiration, though Cecil did all she could to check this 
open show of regard, endeavoring in vain to talk with Mr. 
Ashton, who, as she might have known, from her long 
sojourn in his house, had no talent for keeping up a con- 
versation. 

“ Good morning! I hope you are better;” was all that 
Fitz Elwyn addressed to Cecil amid the bustle of the gene- 
ral introduction; and “ thank you — much better,” was her 
sole reply; but there was a something in the tone of the 
question and answer, brief as they were, which rivetted 
the attention of Robert Ashton for the moment, the next he 
was compelled to listen to Mr. Beckington Ford’s studied 
politeness, that young gentleman having resolved to make 
himself especially agreeable in the hope of thus obtaining 


162 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


an introduction to his friend Lord Edward Lister, who had 
capital grouse shooting on his estate in the north. 

There was no accounting for Robert’s moods, or guess- 
ing what his conduct would be under any circumstances. 
His bows to Lord Fitz Elwyn and his friend when intro- 
duced had been cold and formal in the extreme, yet he 
readily conversed with the ignorant fawning Beckington 
Ford. He had his reward. In spite of his mother’s frown 
which was outweighed by the prospect of grouse shooting, 
Mr. Beckington Ford invited the Ashtons to stay to dinner, 
an invitation which was promptly accepted by Robert for 
himself and father. The entrance of Mr. Hatton and his 
host caused a fresh uprising and introduction; but still 
through all. Sir Thomas Willerton retained his station by 
Cecil, till the ladies retired to dress; nor could Mrs. Ford’s 
manoeuvres prevent his obtaining a seat beside her at the 
dinner table, a circumstance to which she was only half 
reconciled, by having secured Fitz Elwyn as a neighbor for 
her eldest daughter, since even her vehement wishes could 
not blind her to the fact that his lordship took no great de- 
light in her society, and paid considerable attention to the 
conversation of his friend and Cecil. 

“ My father wishes to speak with you alone — where shall 
we find you?” whispered Robert to Miss Clare as she was 
following the other ladies out of the dining room. 

“ In the room at the end of the passage, leading from the 
hall,” replied Cecil in the same low voice. 

“And when?” 

“As soon as you please.” 

It was with mingled feelings of fear, and hope, and joy, 
and sorrow, that Cecil sat in that dull, dark school-room, 
waiting for the Ashtons. What did they wish to say to 
her in private? and what should she say to them in return? 
It would have been less painful and embarrassing to have 
explained her intention of seeking another home by letter, 
than viva voce; but now that they had come, all must be 
stated. 

Had she positively decided on not returning to Ashton 
Grove? This might depend on the truth or falsehood of 
her cousin’s statement. She was still undecided how to act 
when the Ashtons joined her. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


163 


“ Is this the school room?” demanded Robert, glancing 
round the cheerless apartment with a flashing eye. 

“Yes. How did you know it?” 

“ I guess and know every thing, Miss Clare — so take 
care!” he replied with a penetrating look, which caused her 
to color slightly. “ I wish I had the schooling of Mrs. 
Ford here for a week; — nay I would enact the tutor to that 
selfish gourmand her husband; and that empty, self suffi- 
cient coxcomb her son; and you should be under tutor; yet 
no, you would be too merciful.” 

“ What can induce you to desire such an office. For ' 
my part, I must decline being tutor to any of the three, 
having no taste for martyrdom,” replied Cecil smiling at 
his odd fancy. 

“Then why do you undertake the drudgery of teaching 
their stupid, impertinent girls?” he demanded bluntly. 

“ l.otty is a dear, warm-hearted, good-tempered child,” 
said Cecil avoiding a direct reply to his question. 

“A rose unique, grafted by mistake on a bramble,” he 
observed contemptuously. “ But you have not answered 
my question.” 

“You are too abrupt, Robert,” said Mr. Ashton, taking 
Cecil’s hand as he sat beside her, and speaking with the 
earnest affection of a parent. “You were confided to my 
care by your dying mother — you had a- home at Ashton 
Grove — I hoped a happy one — why then have you become 
your cousin’s governess?” 

“ I am not Mrs. Ford’s governess; and have expressly 
told her that I will never become so. No home could be 
happier than Ashton Grove; and I shall ever be most 
grateful for the kindness of all its inmates — and yet — ” 

“And yet what?” questioned Robert impatiently, finding 
that she hesitated. 

“And yet — there are circumstances which may — nay I 
fear must compel me to seek some other shelter.” 

“No such thing! no circumstances can require that; and 
we cannot do without you. Here is a letter to this effect 
from Emma, with a message to the same purport from my 
mother; and positively you return with us to-morrow. We 
only came to escort you back to Ashton Grove, and should 
not dare to show our faces there without you.” 


164 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Did you really come all this way only to take me 
back?” asked the grateful, wondering girl, glancing from 
Kobert to his father. 

“ Yes, indeed, Cecil; and at an hour’s notice too. Ro- 
bert brought such a sad account of your health having suf- 
fered from Mrs. Ford’s uncousinly treatment,” replied Mr: 
Ashton. “ You are certainly looking very ill; and I hope 
no obstacle exists to your returning with us to-morrow; or, 
at the latest, the succeeding day.” 

“ I am grateful — most grateful for all this kindness,” said 
Cecil with a faltering voice, pressing Mr. Ashton’s hand to 
her lips; “ but when you have heard what 1 have to say, 
you may not urge my return so strongly.” 

“I understand. You can not possibly go till you have 
seen Fresh Water Bay, and the New Forest, and all the 
other lions of the neighborhood, exhibited by that inimita- 
ble lioniser Sir Thomas Willerton, and his stately friend the 
Viscount Fitz Elvvyn. You must sail in the Miranda — 
you must recline in the shady coverts of the Forest — you 
must listen to the baronet’s eloquent discourse. It would 
be cruel to tear you away from all these, and take you 
back to our dull and stupid Ashton Grove,” exclaimed Ro- 
bert sarcastically. 

“You do not understand me,” replied Cecil proudly, 
though conscious that she colored crimson. “ It is not my 
intention to sail in the Miranda, or wander in the Forest, 
though Sir Thomas Willerton, pitying my situation, would 
generously do all in his power to alleviate its painfulness; 
my doubts as to the propriety of returning to Ashton Grove 
rest on far different grounds, as you should have known. 
Can I — ought I to eat the bread of idleness, and be de- 
pendent on the bounty of strangers, when my own talents 
might win me a livelihood]” 

“Strangers!” repeated father and son reproachfully. 

“No — not strangers; — kind, most kind friends; I only 
meant not relatives,” replied Cecil quickly. 

“This is a new fancy! that woman, whom you honor by 
calling cousin, has been telling you lies,” observed Robert 
abruptly. 

“ I would fain believe that she has.” 

“I am certain that she has.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


165 


“Will you answer me truly without any reservation from 
the fear of paining me?” said Cecil looking anxiously to- 
wards Mr. Ashton. 

“ Do not doubt me. Ask what you will,” he replied, 
but not without some slight embarrassment, from the re- 
membrance of his early love for her mother. “ What 
would you know?” 

“ I would know if I am really a beggar? Ifl have cause 
to blush for my parents?” said Cecil Clare, summoning all 
her courage to hear a painful truth, if needs must be, re- 
peating with astonishing correctness, considering the cir- 
cumstances under which she had perused it, the contents 
of the letter from her father’s creditor. 

“ And that woman could show such a letter to you!” ex- 
claimed Robert in bitter wrath, ere his father could speak, 

“She ought to be kept in a lobster pot, half in, half out 
of the sea all the rest of her life.” 

“ Is it true?” asked Cecil, looking searchingly into Mr, 
Ashton’s face, not tempted to a smile by Robert’s ludicrous 
doom. 

“ It is false as herself,” cried Mr. Ashton with unwonted 
energy, shocked at the cruelty of showing such a letter to 
an unprotected orphan. “ Your mother, as you must know, 
neither sought nor valued pomp; your father was deceived 
by professed friends — defrauded by dishonest agents, and 
unfortunate in large and daring speculaiions; but no impu- 
tation of dishonor rests on his name; and by a letter received 
a week ago I learn that not only will every demand be paid 
in full; but that there will be a surplus for your use, though 
probably a small one. Mr. Kelson, though one of the least, 
has always been one of the most violent of the creditors, 
owing to personal enmity; and I have no doubt that his let- 
ter was written immediately after your father’s death, when 
a thousand extravagant rumors were afloat.” 

“ Thank heaven!” exclaimed Cecil, tears of joy starting 
into her speaking eyes. 

“ But suppose, Cecil, that there had been no surplus — 
would you have been too proud to receive a kindness from 
your mother’s early friend — your grandfather’s ward?” 
asked Mr. Ashton reproachfully. “ I had hoped that you 
looked upon me as a second parent. This pride was unkind. 


166 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Forgive me;” cried Cecil, overcome by his affectionate 
reproach, and bursting into tears. “ I do not deserve this 
kindness.” 

“ Not a whit,” observed Robert in a tone that belied his 
wards. “ So this is the terrible bugbear that has turned 
you into a drudge, and nearly made you renounce father, 
mother, brother, and sisters, for you have all these rela- 
lalions at Ashton Grove. You deserve — ” 

“ To be put into the lobster pot with Mrs, Ford,” said 
Cecil, smiling through her tears, as she closed his sentence. 

“ Exactly; and let me be the fisherman to pull you out,” 
answered Robert gaily. “ So now it is all settled; Mrs. 
Ford must get another governess, and you depart with us 
to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Ford’s report of the illnatured comments on her 
residence at Ashton Grove were most probably as false as 
her other statements, or were too utterly unfounded to be 
acted on, so Cecil gave herself no further trouble about 
them; but answered without hesitation. 

“ Yes, if you will forgive me, and take me back.” 

“ Will you promise to be very good, and do exactly as 
I bid you in all things?” demanded Robert, holding up his 
finger in playful menace. 

“ I will try to be good; and do all that Mr. Ashton bids 
me,” answered Cecil, turning away from the keen gaze of 
her questioner. 

“ A very proper reply; Robert is far too wild a guide 
for a young maiden;” observed Mr. Ashton with an affec- 
tionate smile. 

“ Uinph! I may have a deeper knowledge of the heart of 
a young maiden, and a far saner judgment thereof than 
some imagine,” replied Robert a little piqued; adding with 
a sudden change of manner. “ Well, if you will not let me 
rule you, I must go and torment Mrs. Ford by telling her 
of the intended elopement of her accomplished and submis- 
sive governess. I have half a mind to propose taking your 
place to console her.” 

“ Stop, Robert. Don’t be rude to Mrs. Ford; remem- 
ber she is a woman, and your hostess,” interposed quiet 
Mr. Ashton. 

“ Miss Clare was also her guest, Sir. Never fear; I will 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


167 


be most exceedingly polite in my tormenting,” replied his 
son whisking out of the room as he spoke, lest his father 
should speak more peremptorily. 

Mrs. Ford was alone when he entered the drawing-room, 
and he advanced towards her with great glee, anticipating 
the annoyance which his communication would cause her. 

“ Am I to condole wdth, or congratulate you on the pros- 
pect of losing one of your fair relatives!” he began, his eyes 
twinkling with mischief. 

“ To what do you allude?” inquired that lady uncertain 
of his meaning. 

“ Nay, Mrs. Ford, do not pretend ignorance of my allu- 
sion; it would be a libel on your penetration to speak more 
plainly; there are signs and symptoms, looks and words in 
which you could not have been mistaken.” 

“ It is a delicate subject to touch on,” replied Mrs. Ford 
after a little hesitation; but as a mother — an anxious affec- 
tionate mother — I cannot have failed to perceive Lord Fitz 
Ehvyn’s attentions to my eldest daughter.” 

“ Indeed! Well there your penetration beats mine; for I 
had not an idea of the sort. I must congratulate the vis- 
count immediately, as he is our nearest neighbor.” 

“ I must beg that you will do no such thing,” exclaimed 
the lady in alarm. “ Such delicate matters should never 
even be hinted at till all preliminaries have been settled, and 
the parties actually engaged, which is not exactly the case 
as yet.” 

“ Depend on my discretion, Mrs. Ford. But it was 
another enlevement of which I spoke; you must guess 
again.” 

“ It would be useless; you really must tell me, for I have 
not an idea.” 

“ Is it possible that with your penetration you have not 
anticipated the loss of Miss Clare?” 

“Oh! that is all nonsense,” replied the lady with a flush 
of vexation. “ Sir Thomas Willerton was only introduced 
to her yesterday, and has no serious views lean assure' you. 
It is a pity that she encourages his Compliments; and he 
ought not to flatter as he does; but young men will be young 
men I suppose, when there is a pretty girl in question, who 
has no mother to guide her.” 


168 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I leave you, Mrs. Ford, to lecture the baronet on his 
unpardonable flirtation, my virords having no reference to 
him.” 

“ Of whom then did you speak?” asked Mrs. Ford com- 
pletely mystified. 

“ I spoke of your losing your accomplished governess, 
Miss Clare; whom we intend to carry off with us to- 
morrow.” 

“ 'riiis was quite unforeseen,” stammered Mrs. Ford, be- 
coming white, and then red, “ I thought — I believed — that 
she would not return. When did she communicate this in- 
tention to you?” 

“Five minutes since in your cheerful schoolroom, where 
she now is with my father. You did all you could to detain 
her, 1 know; but the wisest must sometimes yield to cir- 
cumstances. We are all too much attached to her to hear 
of her seeking another home; and as some thousands will 
remain after a payment in full of her father’s debts, she need 
not as a matter of duly teach A. B. C. Your generous na- 
ture will rejoice at this, as well as at the fact that the state- 
ments contained in the letter shown by you to Miss Clare 
are totally false. By the way, what is the writer’s address? 
he might be prosecuted for a libel.” 

“ That was a private letter, Mr. Ashton; and has been 
destroyed, lest it should fall into other hands and pain my 
cousin,” faltered Mrs. Ford, trembling from head to foot, 
though she endeavored to conceal her agitation. 

“ Has it really been destroyed?” asked Robert, fixing his 
searching eye upon her. 

“ I have already said so;” she replied, but looking aw'ay. 
“ I considered that Cecil ought to see it. It was a painful 
duty to show it to her; but I felt I could not avoid it as she 
entertained, what I then believed to be, an erroneous idea 
of her situation.” 

“ Very magnanimous of you to perform such a painful 
duty; — and of course it must have been very painful. You 
will rejoice sincerely that your views and not hers were er- 
roneous. It is hard to deprive you of the pleasure of per- 
forming painful duties, and showing so much kindness to 
your poor cousin; but harder still to rob you of your gover- 
ness. Can I assist you in procuring another? What would 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


169 


you require? Reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, 
grammar, history, and the use of the globes! with dancing, 
drawing, music, harp, piano and guitar, French, Italian, 
Spanish and German, with the principles of Latin and 
Greek — a good temper with a disposition to submit to orders 
and advice, and make herself useful in every way. Salary 
twenty pounds. Is that all, or have I omitted any thing? 
I will look out for such a one. It cannot be a difficult office 
— your extreme kindness and condescension would be in- 
ducements not to be overlooked.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Ashton; but I do not require a go- 
verness,” replied Mrs. Ford with considerable anger, not 
the less provoked because her tormentor’s manner was ex- 
ceedingly courteous, the malice sparkling in his eye alone 
giving a hint that his politeness was not sincere. “ As Miss 
Clare’s nearest relative, I considered it right to give her 
some friendly advice, which I fear she received in no 
friendly spirit (young people seldom bear reproof with hu- 
mility); and since she prefers the protection of a stranger 
to that of her father’s cousin, I can interfere no further, 
but leave her to run her own course.” 

“ You forget that my father was her grandfather’s ward, 
and that no relative olfered her a home; and I assure you 
Miss Clare values your advice at its true worth.” 

“ I doubt it, Mr. Ashton; but that matters not. When 
does Miss Clare purpose leaving Oakfield Villa?” 

“ At ten to-morrow, if perfectly convenient to you.” 

“ Of course I shall make my pleasure suit hers.” 

“ From what I see, I doubt if this will be the only enle- 
vement,” he continued, pointing Mrs. Ford’s observation 
to Jemima, who was romping on the lawn, not as a girl, 
but a coquetting woman with Mr. Saunders, the poor navy 
surgeon, who showed a great desire to be allied to one of 
the Misses Ford; which, seemed comparatively a matter of 
indifference. 

“ What a singular character your third daughter is! so 
different from the common run of young ladies — so na- 
tural;' — so very natural.” 

As Mrs. Ford could not exactly tell whether these an- 
noying remarks w^ere incidental or premeditated, she chose 
VoL. I. — 15 


170 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


to consider them the former; and answered accordingly 
without any sign of anger. 

“Jemima is a mere girl; there is plenty of time for her 
to acquire the conventional manners of the world. But 
Lotty is there too, I see. Poor child! she will be sadly 
grieved at parting with her cousin, to whom she is so much 
attached. Might I beg Miss Clare’s departure to be kept 
secret, lest she should hear it inadvertently. I would save 
poor liOtty some hours of sorrow if I could; and would 
myself inform my family of her intention the last thing to 
night,” said Mrs. Ford in a soft and coaxing tone, though 
a frown was unconsciously deepening on her brow, as she 
marked the conduct of Jemima and Mr. Saunders. 

Robert x\shton looked at her steadily — he divined the 
motive of her request; but for once his views coincided 
with hers. 

“ What a beautiful thing is a mother’s sensitive affection! 
I will be mute myself, and entreat my father and Miss 
Clare to be equally silent; but depend upon it her intended 
departure will be known to your guests and Lotty within 
the hour. For my part, I believe a well kept secret to be 
more rare than the philosopher’s stone; and the idea of 
four people maintaining secrecy beyond twenty minutes is 
above credibility.” 

“ You are severe, Mr. Ashton. I can answer for myself, 
if you will engage for your party.” 

“ Not I, Mrs. Ford. I will be surety for no one’s se- 
crecy — scarcely my own; however I will do my best — 
depend on that.” 

“ Thank you; it is only for poor Lotty’s sake I ask it, 
knowing how much she will be vexed.” 

“ Oh! certainly; only for poor Lotty’s sake; — I under- 
stand. I will return to your cousin, and warn her that the 
credit of her sex depends on her silence.” 

“ Do if you please; my maid shall pack all her things 
in the morning.” 

“ That is so like you, Mrs. Ford; so very considerate. 
What say you to taking me as a governess? I should so 
soon understand all your ways.” 

“ You would not be steady enough,” replied his hostess, 
trying to cover her annoyance with a laugh. 


THE QTJIET HUSBAND. 


171 


Thinking that his victim had been sufficiently tormented, 
Robert returned to the school-room, where he remained 
chatting with his father and Cecil till the announcement of 
tea, whilst Mrs. Ford stepped out on the lawn to the de- 
struction of Jemima’s flirtation, who was sent into the 
house with a look wffiich she dared not disobey. 

Robert Ashton was wrong in the opinion that the secret 
would not be kept, if he really entertained it. Lotty went to 
bed, and Lord Fitz Elwyn and Sir Thomas Willerton took 
their leave, without the slightest suspicion of Cecil’s in- 
tended departure on the morrow, though the latter had sat 
beside her the whole evening, undisturbed by Mrs. Ford, 
who thought it most prudent to let matters take their course 
for that one night without interfering. The wildness of 
the sky forbade all hope of Fresh Water Bay on the suc- 
ceeding morning; and Cecil had postponed all future en- 
gagements by vague excuses which the baronet how'ever 
would not receive as positive refusals. 

Fitz Elwyn had kept aloof as usual, never joining in her 
conversation with his friend; and never addressing her but 
when required to do so by politeness; and whilst Sir Tho- 
mas shook hands at parting, the viscount’s salutation was a 
cold and formal bow. 

“ Sir Thomas Willerton is inclined to play the fool with 
Miss Clare; and it is quite as well that she is going to leave 
the neighborhood; for she seems positively enchanted with 
his coxcombical attentions,” remarked Robert to his father, 
as they were returning to Milford, where their servant had 
procured them beds. 

“ If you mean by playing the fool, wishing to make Ce- 
cil, Lady Willerton, I agree with you; but I consider that a 
mark of wisdom, and not of folly; and he is no coxcomb,” 
replied his father quietly. 

“ Depend upon it Miss Clare will never be Lady Wil- 
lerton; the baronet has no serious matrimonial intentions,” 
returned Robert sharply, letting down the glass with a vio- 
lence that threatened its destruction, though he had pulled 
it up but a minute before. “ You judge too favorably of 
every one, sir. Sir Thomas Willerton is an arrant cox- 
comb; a id his stately friend the viscount not a whit supe- 
rior — nay, far worse,” 


172 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Something has crossed you to-night, Robert. Rely 
upon it Sir Thomas is in earnest, as regards Cecil; and 
intends to persuade her to become Lady Willerton; and as 
for either of the young men being coxcombs, I have not 
discovered it. The baronet deals a little in hyperbole; but 
is lively, pleasant, and good tempered; whilst his friend is a 
very superior young man. I longed to mention Cecil’s 
departure and invite them to Ashton Grove.” 

“ It is much better that you did not, sir; for my part, I 
like neither of them,” replied his son, thrusting his head 
out of the window to look at the weather, though it was 
raining hard at the moment. 

There was a general exclamation of surprise when Mrs. 
Ford informed her family and the Hattons, that Cecil was 
to leave Oakfield Villa in the morning. 

Mr. Ford looked at his wife as much as to say — “ this is 
your bad management;” — whilst Mrs. Hatton remarked 
that change of air would do Cecil good, and doubtless, Sir 
Thomas would soon follow; at which prediction, the 
Misses Ford tossed their heads, saying — that they were not 
so sure of that. 

Maria Hatton said something kind of the poor governess; 
and her sister observed that she was very ungrateful to think 
of leaving dear, kind Mrs. Ford. 

Poor Lotty, when informed of the fact, was in utter des- 
pair; no soothing could stop her tears — no persuasions 
induce her to quit Cecil for a moment. 

“ I shall have nobody to make me good now; and no 
one to teach me any thing, for I can never learn with mam- 
ma; and I shall never see you again, Cecil. I wish you 
had not come, as you are going away so soon,” cried the 
sobbing Lotty, throwing her arms round her cousin’s neck, 
as she was going to put on her bonnet. 

Yes, yes, dear child; we will hope better things. You 
must mind all that I have said to you; and should I ever 
have a home of my own, you shall come and stay with me.” 

“ Shall 1? shall I indeed, dear Cecil? When you marry 
Sir Thomas Willerton, or Lord Filz Elwyn, shall I come 
and see you?” 

“ Do not talk nonsense, Lotty; I shall never marry 
either, replied Cecil quickly, half putting away the child. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 173 

“ Oh! but it is no nonsense, cousin Cecil; for I heard 
Mrs. Hatton tell mamma that you would be sure to marrv 
one or the other; and you would not blush and tremble so 
if it was all nonsense.” 

The entrance of Mrs. Hatton, who came to say some- 
thing kind, saved Lotty from further rebuke, and Cecil from 
further confusion. 

The carriage arrived at the appointed time — the “ good 
byes” were all exchanged — Lotty had her last kiss; and 
Cecil was handed in by Beckington Ford, who with the 
prospect of grouse shooting before him had been particu- 
larly civil for the last twelve hours. 

“ I shall soon have a house of my own, where I hope to 
have the pleasure of seeing you,” said Beckington Ford, 
shaking hands with Robert Ashton. 

“ Thanks. I receive your hospitable invitation as it 
deserves. Bye the bye, you are very fond of grouse 
shooting — are you not? you said so last night, I think.” 

“ Excessively fond of it! — dole upon it I may say,” 
replied Mr. Beckington Ford, his eyes gleaming with 
delight. 

“ What a pity that I had not known it sooner! My 
friend Lord Edward Lister has just disposed of his estate 
in Yorkshire,” said Robert Ashton, as he sprang into the 
carriage, leaving Beckington Ford standing at the hall door 
with the blank look of disappointment, regretting the waste 
of so much civility. 

“ Man wants but little here below,” 

asserts the poet. We leave the other sex to settle that 
point as they please; but we maintain that woman wants a 
great deal; and though shocked to be compelled to admit 
the truth of the libel, cannot in ^justice deny that ladies, 
particularly young single ladies, do occasionally grieve 
to-day for what they rejoiced in the day before. Why 
this is, we will let wiser heads determine, lest we should, 
like some modern philosophers, mistake cause for effect; 
we only assert the fact, leaving others to found a 
theory thereon. All Tuesday and Wednesday was 
Cecil Clare longing to be at Ashton Grove, or Ashton 

15 * 


174 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


any thing else, rather than at Oakfield Villa, or in the 
neighborhood of Milford; yet on Thursday morning, she 
breathed a deep, deep sigh as the carriage drove away 
from both; and so far was her head turned back to catch a 
last glimpse of Alum Bay, the lighthouse, and the cliffs, 
that Robert warned her with confusing bluntness of the 
fate of the American owl, that wrung off its own neck. 

After such a warning of course her head was kept within 
the window; but her eye rested when it could on the scene 
of the water party; and site appeared to take great pleasure 
in watching a pretty yacht that was working her way 
through the Needles. The yacht was a cutter, about the 
size of the Miranda; but her jib and foresail were of a dif- 
ferent cut, which might easily have been seen by any one 
versed in such matters. 

Perhaps Cecil did not know which was the jib or the 
foresail; and thought all vessels of the same size were rig- 
ged exactly alike — the sails all cut and hoisted after one 
fashion; or perhaps, at that moment, she forgot that there 
might be other cutters in the R. Y. C.; as we said before, 
we must beg to be excused from endeavoring to thread the 
labyrinth of a maiden’s mind. 

Thanks to Robert’s activity, the business with Mr. Black- 
wall was speedily arranged; and in due time, Cecil reached 
Ashton Grove, looking decidedly worse than when she had 
left it; but very much better than when she had quitted 
Oakfield Villa. It is needless to say that she was warmly 
welcomed by all the family, including the youngest daugh- 
ter Sarah, a handsome girl about seventeen, who had coaxed 
her parents, against their judgment, to let her leave school; 
and the youngest son Charles, a merry thoughtless youth a 
few months older; who was to have a commission — when 
he could get it. 

“ I must take you in hand again, and see if I cannot 
make you as blooming as our midsummer roses,” exclaim- 
ed Mrs. Ashton, after eyeing Cecil for some time, “ I do 
not know what Mr. Fleetwood will say to your returning 
so thin and pale; he has made many anxious inquiries after 
your health I assure you; and Lord Fitz Elwynis expected 
every day.” 

“ Mr. Fleetwood’s nose is put quite out of joint; and Lord 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


175 


Filz Elvvyn intends sailing about the Needles for the next 
three weaks at least,” remarked Robert sarcastically; whilst 
Cecil’s pallid cheek lit up into a crimson glow. 

“ Well, it does not matter about Lord Fitz Elwyn, that 
is Lady Barbara’s look out; only it is very provoking that 
he should always be coming and yet never come; but Mr. 
Fleetwood is a very pleasant, gentlemanly young man; and 
the best catch in the county. I see how it is, Cecil, you 
want a little gaiety; moping does not agree with you any 
more than with others. You must go to the archery on the 
thirtieth at Summerland; it is only ten miles off, and all the 
county will be there, for there is no knowing when there 
may be another meeting, as the house is j ust let. Begin prac- 
tising directly; I will choose a bow for you; and in the mean 
time you can use Emma’s. I have set my heart on one of 
my three daughters, I count you as one, Cecil, winning 
the best prize.” 

Poor Cecil, who would much rather have remained 
quietly at home, remonstrated — but in vain; Mrs. Ashton 
made such a point of her going, and shooting, and dancing, 
and being very happy; that she felt herself in gratitude, ob- 
liged to yield. 


176 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Mrs. Ashton and her party were early at Summerland 
(when was Mrs. Ashton late any where, unless when de- 
layed by her indolent husband and irregular boys) but early 
as it was, Mr. Fleetwood was ready to hand them from the 
carriage, and express his pleasure at seeing Cecil look so 
much better than on her return^ for this was not their first 
meeting after that event. 

She was looking better; and to please Mrs. Ashton had 
laid aside her first deep mourning; and was trying to be gay. 
Trying to be gay! what does not that expression convey to 
the bleeding heart? We may stand by the sea and strive to 
laugh — but grief comes in on the rolling waves; we may 
sit in the covert of deep woods, away from all who would 
pain us; yet the rustling of a leaf — the murmur of the 
breeze among the branches, will renew the pangs of the 
wounded heart; — we may sport on the velvet lawn; and the 
gladinof of a sun beam — the song of a happy bird — the flit- 
ting of a gaudy butterfly — the delicate scent of some lovely 
flower — ay, the chirp of a grasshopper — the veriest nothing 
will recall a host of painful recollections. We may look 
into the placid lake — the summer sky — the winter fire — ay, 
even on a plain stone wall, and yet in each and all mark 
the iron impress of the past. Oh! memory what a mighty 
thing thou art! the unconquerable tyrant of the heart. What 
hath thy power to soothe and to destroy? We may propi- 
tiate, though we cannot defy thee. We may try to be gay 
— we should try to be cheerful; but it is a hard task, as 
many a one has felt beside Cecil Clare. 

As for Sarah, she was the very personification of youth- 
ful delight. It was her first appearance in public — she was 
no longer a girl — she was a woman. Ah! little did she 
think how soon that woman might have cause to wish her- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


177 


self again a girl. Then Sarah was handsome, lively, good- 
tempered, and, as her brother remarked, not so clever as to 
alarm the beaux; and those beaux being a novelty to her, 
she had a smile and a gay word for each, without thinking 
of any thing more than having partners for her first ball. 
Sarah Ashton was decidedly the happiest person at Sum- 
merland. It was a pretty scene that Archery meeting, with 
a tolerably picturesque house standing back in a wood — a 
velvet laWn in front, on which the sun shone joyously, slop- 
ing down to a pretty stream with weeping willows, and 
swans, and reedy islands; whilst well dressed females wan- 
dered about in straggling groups, escorted by polite cava- 
liers. 

“ What a gay and amusing scene! No one can be un- 
happy here to-day;” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, who was in 
her element, watching the fresh arrivals, describing them to 
Cecil, and addressing all she knew — a word to this, and a 
word to that; — now asking Captain Wilder about the in- 
ventor of the machine, with the unpronounceable name, that 
she could never remember — now questioning Mrs. Praed 
concerning her farm — then turning to others and inquiring 
after fathers and mothers — uncles and aunts — brothers and 
sisters — nephews and nieces — little babies and grown up 
sons and daughters, even to the third and fourth cousins, 
with a sympathy truly catholic; advising, congratulating, 
and condoling, as the case might require. 

“ There are the Prynnes come, I see. I must just go 
and ask after their mother, poor things; and hear whether 
she has tried the lotion I sent for her eyes. Perhaps, Mr. 
Fleetwood, you would be kind enough to point out the most 
distinguished county families to Miss Clare as they come 
on the lawn, till I return; it would be of no use to ask 
Robert, I know; he would only tell her wrong,” said Mrs. 
Ashton, bustling through the crowd without waiting for his 
assent. 

“I will not condemn you to the office of M. C. to such 
a poor simpleton; for I always forget these family histories 
as soon as heard, mismatching the Capulets and Montagues 
in a style truly horrifying to dear Mrs. Ashton,” remarked 
Cecil half amused, and half provoked, judging, and judg- 


178 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


in^ correctly, that her kind hostess had some idea of mating 
her with the best catch in the county. 

“ Believe me, Miss Clare, I would willingly undertake 
that, or any other office to please you; though as I admit 
myself not very well skilled in the county genealogies, 1 
will leave the common herd unnamed, and only point out 
the most illustrious,” replied, Mr. Fleetwood determined 
not to be dismissed. 

“As you please,” said Cecil, who had always found 
him an agreeable companion, though she still rather shun- 
ned than desired his attentions. 

“I may be able to remember the birth, parentage, and 
education of some few illustrissimos^ though I could not 
undertake to recollect the history of all the nobility and 
gentry who may grace Summerland with their presence; 
and to tell the truth, I greatly prefer watching those stately 
swans arching their long white necks with such mingled 
grace and dignity, resting proudly on the water like mon- 
archs of the stream.” 

“ You are romantic, Miss Clare.” 

“I pray you not to say so. To be romantic in these 
unromantic days is nearly as a great a crime as being poor; 
and to convict me of both would be to place me out of the 
pale of civilised society at once; — add authoress to the 
other two — and the climax would be complete, and I might 
go live in the woods — 

“A sisterless Abbess the last of my race.” 

“I will be your confessor,” exclaimed Robert Ashton, 
who though standing near, had hitherto taken little share in 
the conversation. 

“ I meant to have applied for that office,” said Mr. Fleet- 
wood vexed at being forestalled. 

“You are too late,” observed Robert with an emphasis 
that struck both his hearers. 

“I will live alone in my wild domain; and have no father 
confessor,” said Cecil proudly. 

“You fear confession; — and you are right,” observed 
Robert with a look from which she shrank. 

“ What do you think of the Barringhams, my dear? 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 179 

There is Lady Barbai% Helherton, Lady Fitz Elvvyn that 
is to be. Did not Mr. Fleetwood point her out to yon?” 
inquired Mrs. Ashton coming back at tliat moment, half 
breathless with her bustling. 

Cecil started at this address: it was natural that she 
should, having no idea that Mrs. Ashton was again close 
beside her. 

“ You are looking the wrong way; — there is Lady Bar- 
bara Hetherton,” said Robert, pointing in exactly the oppo- 
site direction to that in which Cecil had been gazing. 

She turned her eyes as directed. First came Lady Bar- 
ringham; tall, large, with finely formed, but inexpressive 
features, and a stalely mien: at her side, but a little behind, 
was Lady Barbara Hetherton, who would have been con- 
sidered a beauty by the generality of observers had she 
even been devoid of that beautifier title. She had a bril- 
liant complexion, and well formed face, though rather full; 
large, sleepy gray eyes; and a commanding figure. 

“ I beg your pardon for not having introduced Lady 
Barbara Hetherton to your notice; but I was not aware that 
you took such an interest in her ladyship,” said Mr. Fleet- 
wood, finding that Cecil’s observation continued fixed on 
the titled belle. “ What do you think of her?” 

“ Think of her:” repeated .Cecil involuntarily, as if un- 
conscious of the meaning of his words, which had roused 
her from a reverie; then, recovering herself, she hastened 
to reply. “She is very handsome; but to me not attractive. 
She has the beauty of form and feature; but none of the 
beauty of expression; and her manner seems cold and 
studied. I should judge her deficient in energy, and 
warmth of heart.” 

“ Exactly so. Miss Clare; you have read her character 
at a glance, or rather her want of character. She is the 
handsome, indolent woman of fashion, with neither strength 
of mind, originality of thought, nor warmth of heart. I do 
not envy Lord Fitz Elwyn his bride. Give me features 
that light up with hope, and joy, and pity — ever changing 
their expression. I prefer feeling to fashion; and her man- 
ner is you say maniere." 

“ Do not quote me on this subject. Mr. Fleetwood,” 
observed Cecil coloring. “ I am vexed with myself for 


180 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


having spoken as I did of Lady Barbara; it was worse than 
presumption in me even to guess at her merits or demerits, 
after such a casual glance, and without ever having heard 
her speak, or been introduced to her.” 

“You are too scrupulous, Miss Clare. You have said 
nothing more than the truth, I assure you, though I am sur- 
prised at the quickness of your penetration.” 

“ It does not deserve the name of penetration, being only 
a hasty and not very charitable guess. I entreat you to 
forget my remarks,” said Cecil earnestly. 

“ I must repeat. Miss Clare, that you are loo scrupu- 
lous. Why should you blame yourself for only discover- 
ing the truth?” 

“ Your eloquence is wasted, Fleetwood ” observed Ro- 
bert Ashton. “ You can not persuade Miss Clare of her 
perfect innocence in this matter; she is scrupulous — very 
scrupulous in some things, and I see is set on condemning 
herself for her strictures on Lord Fitz Elwyn’s bride elect. 
I only hope that she will be equally charitable towards me.” 

“ I should purposely speak hardly of none, though car- 
ried away by my high spirits, I sometimes say what the 
next moment I wish unsaid,” replied Cecil coldly. 

“ I do not understand such a tender conscience. Do you 
intend to patronise Lady Barbara? become her bosom friend 
— and cry her up as perfection?” 

“ You mean, 1 suppose, do 1 intend to get Lady Barbara 
to patronise me: to talk of my patronising any one, par- 
ticularly an earl’s daughter, is a misuse of the term.” 

“ Oh! you wish her to patronise you, and make you her 
most intimate friend; I will procure you an introduction.” 

“ No, no;” cried Cecil hurriedly, turning to speak to 
Miss Knight, who was standing near. 

“ Dear me, who can these gentlemen be in that hand- 
some curricle? Two very elegant young men. They are 
standing up in the carriage as if to look over the lawn; and 
now they have both jumped out, and are coming this way,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Ashton. “ Who can they be? 1 do think 
they must be seeking some one in particular; and they are 
certainly coming this way, edging through the crowd as 
fast as they can. If I knew whom they wanted, 1 dare 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


181 


say I could help them; for I could tell where almost any 
one might be found.” 

“ My dear mother, do let the young gentlemen find their 
friends themselves. No one thanks you for all the pains 
you take in their behalf,” observed her eldest son, who w'as 
often provoked at his mother’s kind, but injudicious offers 
of assistance. 

“We ought to help each other in this life as much as we 
can; I am afraid you will be very selfish when an old man,” 
replied Mrs. Ashton. 

“ I am afraid I am very selfish as a young one,” said 
Robert frankly. 

“ I declare the strangers are coming towards us; yet I 
can not make them out at all. Do look, Emma, and see if 
you know any thing of them.” 

Emma, who had only just rejoined her mother, having 
been on another part of the lawn with the Wilders, looked 
as desired; but could give no information as to the elegant 
strangers. 

“You have not stared at these lions. Miss Clare,” ob- 
served Robert in a mocking tone. 

Cecil looked where Emma had looked before, and saw 
Sir Thomas Willerton making his way towards her as fast 
as the crowd would permit, dragging Lord Filz Elwyn after 
him, who instead of appearing as happy as his friend seemed 
half inclined to remonstrate with him for his impetuosity. 

“ Do you know them, Cecil?” asked Mrs. Ashton. 

Cecil was very busy arranging her scarf; and did not hear 
— at least did not reply. 

“ Oh! yes. Miss Clare knows them. They are particu- 
lar friends of hers.” 

“ Particular friends of Cecil’s, Robert?” questioned Mrs. 
Ashton in surprise. 

“ Yes: very particular friends.” 

Mrs. Ashton had no time to make further inquiries, or 
express further wonder; for Sir Thomas having caught 
sight of Cecil, was at her side, whilst just behind him stood 
Lord Filz Elwyn. 

The baronet’s greeting satisfied Mrs. Ashton as to the 
truth of Robert’s assertion; — never was joy more strongly 
VoL. I.— 16 


182 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


depicted in human countenance than in that of Sir Thomas 
Willerton, as lie shook hands with Cecil. 

“ What a happiness to see you again, Miss Clare! I can 
not tell which is greatest, my joy at this meeting, or my 
sorrow on learning your departure from Milford, which 
Mrs. Ford would lain have kept concealed. That dear, 
good, little creature l^otty told me where to find you; or I 
should infallibly have Hung myself off the cliffs in despair.’* 

“ A male Sappho! I hope you wrote some odes first, Sir 
Thomas,” observed Robert sarcastically. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Ashton, for not seeing you be- 
fore;” said Sir 'I’liomas, far loo happy to think of analysing 
his sarcasm, and shaking hands with a warmth which made 
Robert half ashamed of his ill humor. Lord Fitz Elwyn 
only bowed; — it was all he had done to Cecil. 

“I would have flown after you immediately,” continued 
the baronet, turning towards Miss Clare; “ but a plaguy 
engagement to my kind, old aunt stood in the way; that ful- 
filled, I travelled day and night to meet you here to-day. 
You can vouch for the rapidity of our journey, Fitz Elwyn.” 

“ Undoubtedly. I had only two hours sleep last night; 
and not many more the night before.” 

“ For shame, Fitz. I allowed you four, that is, you 

stayed four hours at S ; but two hours out of these 

four you talked incessantly; and I have a very bad habit of 
not being able to sleep when people talk.” 

“ You cannot assert that the subject of my discourse 
was ‘ stale, flat, and unprofitable.’ ” 

“ No: too exciting! — and therefore the more likely to 
murder sleep,” replied Fitz Elwyui with a sudden contrac- 
tion of the brow, that passed away on the instant.. “ Should 
I be pronounced intolerably stupid to-day, Willerton, you 
must bear the blame,” he added. 

“ 'Thou shameless man! Was it not all to bring you 
into Miss Clare’s presence; — and are you not now basking, 
in the sunshine of her smile?” 

“ 'I'hen Miss Clare must bear the blame. Should your 
lordship be stupid to-day we must understand her to be'lhe 
cause,” remarked Robert Ashton. 

“ Pray bring no such unjust accusation against me. I 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


183 


can have no influence over Lord Fitz Ehvyn’s mood,” ob» 
served Cecil with a mingling of confusion and hauteur. 

“ I brought no such accusation against 3'ou, Miss Clare,” 
replied the viscount with hauteur at least equal to her own. 

“ You would deserve to be guillotined if you had, Fitz 
Elwyn. A true knight defends all peerless damsels, instead 
of accusing them. But alack and a well-a-day, you are 
sadly deficient in gallantry, not to protest that your mood is 
not only influenced, but absolutely ruled by Miss Clare — 
that you live but in her smiles — should perish beneath her 
frowns.” 

“ I fear Miss Clare would not believe me if I said so.” 

“ My credulity does not extend beyond possibilities,” 
answered Cecil with her former lofty tone. 

“ Ah! Fitz: truly has it been said, that the days of chi- 
valry are gone,” exclaimed Sir Thomas laughing. “ What 
true knight would fail to tell a lady of his entire devotion, 
or to pledge himself to impossibilities for her sake, from the 
fear of being disbelieved. A few particles of the gallantry 
and knightly devotion of former days still linger in this 
material world; and those few are concentrated in me; so I 
pray you. Miss Clare, to accept of me unworthy represen- 
tative as I am of the heroes of olden times, as your devoted 
cavalier throughout the day — your partner in the first dance 
at least. I understand each lady is to have her attendant 
esquire to bear her arrows and bend her bow.” 

“ It is impossible to resist such wonderful humility,” 
answered Cecil gaily, taking his offered arm. 

“ Victory! Victory! Now shall I win the prize to a cer- 
tainly,” exclaimed Sir Thomas with a triumphant glance 
at Fleetwood, some intuitive feeling of jealousy hinting at 
that gentleman’s inclination to become his rival. “ How 
stand the rules? I think some one told us, Fitz, that this 
being an extraordinary archery meeting, under the rule of 
rather an extraordinary steward, strangers and members 
were to have an equal chance. The prizes to be four — tw'O 
for ladies and two for gentlemen; bracelets for the former, 
and silver arrows for the latter. The Robin Hoods, who 
win the arrows, to have the honor of clasping on the brace- 
lets. Of course, Miss Clare you win the first bracelet — I 


184 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


the first silver arrow; with such a spur to my ambition I 
shall outshoot myself as well as my rivals.” 

“ You will have many competitors,” remarked Mr. 
Fleetwood, looking any thing but pleased at the lively 
baronet’s presumptuous appropriation of Cecil. 

“The more the better! 1 will outstrip them all,” replied 
Sir Thomas boldly, meeting his rival’s look of vexation 
with one of defiance. 

Mrs. Ashton’s introduction to the strangers by Robert, 
at her request, prevented further remark or rejoinder. 

“ So you really are come at last. Lord Fitz Elwyn!” 
exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, after the proper interchange of 
bows and courtesies. “ For the last six weeks I have 
heard of your being expected at Lindmoor every day.” 

“ Then I fear you are tired of me before my arrival,” 
replied his lordship with a good-humored smile, and com- 
prehending her character at once. 

“ Oh! no ray lord; very glad to meet you at your own 
time. As our lands join, I hope we shall be good neigh- 
bors, and see a great deal of each other; which I am sorry 
to say was not the case with the late earl.” 

“ You are very good,” replied the viscount politely; but 
the smile had vanished. “ I should have found Lindmoor 
lonely without my father and mother, who were unexpect- 
edly detaiiied in Dorsetshire by my aunt’s illness; so 1 pre- 
ferred the Miranda as an abode, with the gaiety of Willer- 
ton to keep oflT ennui.” 

“ But you are going to Lindmoor now I hope.” 

“ After this meeting; and my parents will join me there 
in a few days.” 

“ Mr. Ashton and my sons will do themselves the honor 
of calling immediately.” 

“ I should apologise for not having inquired after Mr. 
Ashton. I flatter myself that we were mutually pleased at 
our first meeting.” 

“ I can answer for my husband’s pleasure,” replied the 
gratified Mrs. Ashton. 

“ Come, gentlemen! each select the lady, who is to be the 
object of his care for the day,” cried the merry steward, 
who had the principal share in the rather novel arrange- 
ments of the meeting. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


158 


Thus adjured, Mr. Fleetwood offered his arm to Emma, 
who accepted it with an arch glance at Cecil. Sarah was 
already provided with a cavalier; and Lord Filz Elwyn 
moved off to make his selection. i 

“ His lordship is a very pleasant, elegant young man; 
and seems inclined to be friendly; but he is not near as 
lively as Sir Thomas Willerton; and does not appear to me 
to be quite happy,” remarked Mrs. Ashton. 

“ Quite happy! I should like to know who is?” replied 
her son, marching off towards the Wilders; but Miss Wil- 
der was leaning on Edward’s arm, and Miss Knight had 
some time before been provided with a cavalier, so Robert 
requested permission to devote himself to Miss Power, a 
request most graciously granted, though the gentleman’s 
manner was not very flattering, and his mood throughout 
the day reekless and strange. 

When Cecil next saw Fitz Elwyn he was conversing in 
a low voice with 'Lady Barbara Hetherton, whilst Lady 
Barringham looked approval. 

The precedence in shooting was to be decided by lot; 
the ladies drawing, and their attendant gentlemen taking 
the same numbers. Each person was to have three shots; 
— first all the ladies shooting once — then all the gentlemen 
— the prizes to be awarded to the four arrows nearest the 
centre of the bull’s eye. 

The first shots from ladies and gentlemen were rather 
wild; but the second round exhibited more skill. 

“ Blow, trumpets, blow! Miss Clare’s arrow is in the 
bull’s eye,” shouted Sir Thomas Willerton in great delight 
to the attendant musicians. Whilst Cecil drew back blush- 
ing and surprised at her own success. , 

This announcement caused more animation and compe- 
tition among the ladies; but no dangerous rival appeared at 
the conclusion of the round; Miss Wilder’s arrow was the 
nearest, and close beside it was one shot by Lady Barbara 
Hetherton. 

“ Now for the honor of clasping on the bracelet!” whis- 
pered Sir 'I’homas to Cecil as he left her to take his place 
before the target. 

It was a good shot — close to the inner circle; but still a 
16 * 


186 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


little — a very little behind Mr. Fleetwood’s arrow; and the 
gentlemen looked at each other not very graciously. 

Cecil’s third arrow fell sufficiently near the centre to 
prove that her former success had not been merely acci- 
dental. Some of the ladies were despairing — most ner- 
vous; but Lady Barbara Hetherton on receiving her arrow 
from Lord Fitz Elwyn’s hand placed it carefully in her 
bow; and took a steady, deliberate aim. There was no timid 
trembling of the hand, only a slight flushing of the cheek, 
and a hurried glance at Cecil that showed her ambitious of 
conquest. 

“ A bull’s eye! a bull’s eye! the very centre!” shouted 
some of the beaux who crowded round her handsome lady- 
ship, whilst the horns sent forth a loud and joyous blast, 
and Lady Barbara’s friends were profuse in their congratu- 
lations. 

Sir Thomas was vexed; and would have expressed his 
regret to Cecil; but Cecil was looking on the ground, and 
her bonnet hid her changing cheek. And why did the 
cheek change, and the lip quiver, when Cecil had declared 
that morning, and with truth, that she had no wish for vic- 
tory, and only shot to please Mrs. Ashton? 

“ Only half a bull’s eye,” exclaimed Mr. Fleetwood, 
eyeing the target. 

“ A fair tilting ground for the champions of the two la- 
dies,” cried a merry old gentleman. 

“ You will be my champion Lord Fitz Elwyn;” said 
Lady Barbara, in her very sweetest tone, with a look that 
some of her admirers would have knelt to receive. Cecil 
could not catch his lordship’s reply, it was uttered in so 
low a voice; but she saw him walk* immediately towards 
the target to assist in the examination. 

“ I am your champion. Miss Clare, and wear your fa- 
vors,” cried Sir Thomas taking a white rose from the bou- 
quet she held in her hand ere she guessed his purpose; and 
hurrying after the viscount. 

“ You are clearly the conqueror,” exclaimed the baro- 
net rejoining her in a few minutes. “ The umpires have 
decided in your favor, and Fitz Elwyn is obliged to give 
up the claim of his ^faire Ladye.^ Let me be the first to 
congratulate you.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


187 


“ It does not matter;” observed Cecil quickly, instead 
of thanking him for his congratulations. 

“ Yes; but it does matter a great deal, Miss Clare; I 
intend to be victor; and encouraged by your good wishes 
shall be sure to succeed. Besides, I do not admire Lady 
Barbara’s manner; instead of delicately standing aloof like 
you, she pressed forward, showing a personal rivalry: — I 
wish some other lady would cut her out.” 

Sir Thomas wished in vain; no other lady approached 
so near as to give rise to a doubt (Emma Ashton came the 
next) and to Cecil Clare and Lady Barbara Hetherton were 
the prizes awarded. 

If Lady Barbara had appeared to take great pains, Mr. 
Fleetwood appeared to take still more; and his third arrow 
was a quarter of an inch in advance of his second. 

“ Beat him! cut him out! Do not let him have the ho- 
nor of clasping on her bracelet,” whispered Sir Thomas in 
strong excitement to Lord Fitz Elwyn, as his lordship ad- 
vanced to take his turn. “ My great anxiety may cause 
me to fail; but I would rather that any one should win than 
Fleetwood; he is my rival, I am sure; and as such I hate 
him already.” 

“ I will do my best. He shall not win!” replied Fitz 
Elwyn with the lofty glance of a hero bent on conquest and 
conscious of his power. 

And better he could not have done; his arrow stood next 
to Cecil’s, exactly in the centre of the bull’s eye. 

“I never saw a finer shot, or more graceful and com- 
manding attitude,” observed an old gentleman within Cecil’s 
hearing. “ He and Lady Barbara will make a handsome 
couple; they bear the bell to-day, though there are several 
pretty women, and fine young men on the ground.” 

“ His lordship will not ask my advice, or I should rather 
recommend that young lady in mourning. She is pale, and 
evidently in ill health; but there is more of nature in her 
gracefulness; and far more mind in her countenance.” 

“ Pooh, Monckton! Who wants mind in a woman? Let 
her be handsome, gentle, and good-tempered — what should 
a man desire more?” 

“Lord Fitz Elwyn is of your opinion I conclude,” re- 
plied Mr. Monckton drily. 


188 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“Control yourself, Willerlon; you are absolutely shaking 
with anxiety,” whispered Fitz Elwyn as his friend’s turn 
approached. 

“So I am. I have a kind of superstitious feeling that if 
I do not beat Fleetwood, 1 shall lose — ” 

“Your senses, if they are not lost already,” interposed 
the viscount. 

“ I cannpt think what you are made of, Fitz Elwyn, to 
take every thing so calmly — so coldly. You are not in 
love, say what you will, or you never could have shot so 
steadily.” 

Fitz Elwyn turned away with another contraction of that 
noble brow; but from the moment that his friend’s arrow 
was placed in his bow his gaze became fixed on his move- 
ments with a painful intensity, as if he too entertained some 
superstitious feeling as to the result. 

The arrow flew straighlly and steadily, falling in the ' 
target between those of Mr. Fleetwood, and the viscount. 

“I have beaten him however!” said Sir Thomas in a 
half suppressed tone of triumph, whilst Mr. Fleetwood 
walked away unable to conceal his annoyance, though en- 
deavoring to jest on his own defeat. 

The other shots were not worth recording. The judges 
announced that Miss Clare, and Lord Fitz Elwyn were en- 
titled to the first prizes — Lady Barbara Helherton and Sir 
Thomas Willerton to the second; and that the bracelets and 
silver arrows would be presented after dinner, to which the 
whole party then adjourned. 

“You are a happy man, Fitz Elwyn,” remarked Sir 
Thomas to his friend, as he met him in the passage going 
to give a message to his servant. 

“,Am 1?” replied Fitz Elwyn with a blighted smile. 

“To be sure you are. Who can doubt it? Is not Miss 
Clare to receive the prize from you?” 

“ She will not prize it the more for that.” 

“ Not if you clasp it on with such a gloomy face. One 
would take you for the vanquished instead of the victor; I 
should be wild with delight if I were you.” 

“ Should you;” remarked Fitz Elwyn with a lock of in- 
credulity. 

“To be sure man! But I forgot; our loves are tangled; 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


189 


and that mischievous Puck has pored the juice of the pansy 
on the wrong lids. You should clasp the bracelet on Lady 
Barbara’s arm. Could not we arrange it so? It is something 
to have outdone that fellow Fleetwood, and you I know will 
never be my rival; honor and affection alike forbid it; but 
if I could only change with you in this one point I should 
feel assured of success in my fondest hopes. Give me this 
proof of friendship, Fitz; and I shall be your debtor for 
life.” 

“ Miss Clare might feel offended; — the stewards might 
object,” replied his lordship hesitating, and looking down 
as he spoke. 

“I will answer for Miss Clare’s not objecting, as some- 
how or other, I doubt your being a favorite of hers; besides 
I heard her say that she thought it a very silly arrangement; 
and we can soon talk over the stewards; — Lady Barbara’s 
will is law, to one of them at least. May I go and settle it 
so with Miss Clare?” 

“ I should be sorry to thwart her wishes,” replied Fitz 
Elwyn proudly, but the lofty air was lost on Sir Thomas, 
who hurried off to secure the accomplishment of his wishes. 

“ Oh! Miss Clare, I am come to solicit you to divest 
yourself of some of your rightful glory in favor of a humble 
petitioner. You can claim to receive the bracelet from the 
first victor — will you submit to receive it from the second? 
By so doing you will make me the happiest of mortals; and 
as you may judge, Fitz Elwyn the same.” 

I am to understand then that it is his lordship’s wish 
as much as yours. 

“ Can you doubt it? He will then have the pleasure of 
presenting his bracelet to Lady Barbara. Your consent 
alone is wanting, for we can easily win the stewards to 'our 
wishes; and your consent will bestow inestimable favors 
upon two.” 

“ I leave every thing to you and Lord Fitz Elwyn; — 
arrange all as you please,” said Cecil coldly. 

“Thanks! thanks! a thousand thanks!” cried the en- 
raptured baronet, not remarking the coldness of her assent, 
or attributing it to maiden bashfulness. “ You will still 
have the handsomest bracelet,” he added as he left her to 
seek the stewards. 


190 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ No, no; I yield all to Lady Barbara,” said Cecil quick- 
ly and proudly too. 

“ I have settled it all with Miss Clare, Fitz Elwyn; so 
now come with me to the stewards.” 

“ Then Miss Clare made no objection.” 

“Objection? I will not wound your vanity by reporting 
how readily she yielded; but you know I do not stand with 
her as a stranger — or even an indifferent acquaintance. When 
I have to think of any thing but my fiery love I must make 
you and Miss Clare better friends. You will have no dif- 
ficulty in persuading Lady Barbara to the substitution, I 
conclude,” he added looking arch. 

“ I shall not make the attempt; but simply tell her that it 
has been so arranged on account of her rank, and our having 
been the respective cavaliers of the two ladies.” 

“That will do capitally; I declare your calm, command- 
ing manner setdes things better than all my warmth and 
energy. Miss Clare talked of giving up the handsomest 
bracelet, saying that she would yield all to Lady Barbara; 
but—” 

“Of course, that must not be;” interposed Fitz Elwyn. 

“The stewards were very persuadable; and we have 
arranged the substitution on the plea of her ladyship’s rank, 
and Fitz Elwyn’s having been her devoted esquire,” whis- 
pered Sir Thomas as he handed Cecil in to dinner. “The 
prizes are to be given after dessert, in the presence of all.” 

“ I have such a horror of being stared at. Sir Thomas 
that I must request you to make the ceremony as brief, and 
as little remarkable as possible,” said Cecil in the same low 
tone. 

“All shall be as you wish. There are limes when the 
heart is too full of happiness for the lips to speak.” 

- This was said in such an earnest lone that Cecil looked 
steadily at him for a moment; then turned away with a 
crimson flush. 

“I wish I were you! I should so like to have won the 
first prize!” observed Sarah Ashton. 

“You know not what you wish. You are young in ex- 
perience as in years,” answered Cecil warningly. 

“ You, on the contrary, are a sage old philosopher,” re- 
marked a voice beside her. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


191 


She turned and caught Robert’s eye fixed keenly on her. 
She had a great dislike to those keen looks, and the marked' 
emphasis with which he sometimes spoke; but they were 
things for which she could scarcely show resentment; and 
there were times when he was kind and gentle as a brother. 

Mrs. Ashton’s party chanced to be seated nearly opposite 
Lady Barringham’s; and a very merry party it seemed:— 
was it only seeming? 

Sir 'J’homas Willerton and Cecil maintained a lively con- 
versation during the repast; — Mr. Fleetwood and Emma did 
their best to equal them in gaiety — Robert flirted furiously 
with Miss Power, talking a great deal of clever nonsense; 
whilst Lady Barbara looked perfectly happy conversing in 
a low voice with Lord Fitz Elwyn, who answered her in 
the same subdued tone. Edward Ashton appeared very 
comfortably established between Miss Wilder and Miss 
Knight, whilst Sarah and Charles enjoyed all around them 
with the buoyant spirits of early youth. 

Dinner ended, dessert succeeded; and then came the 
moment for the presentation of the prizes; one of the stew- 
ards, as had been agreed on, stating why the former arrange- 
ment was to be in some slight degree departed from. 

Lady Barbara received hers from Lord Fitz Elwyn with 
the self-possession of one accustomed from her childhood 
to be flattered and followed; her eyes sparkled with triumph; 
but the rose did not deepen on her cheek, and the braceieted 
hand did not tremble. His manner and address were grace- 
ful, but jrrave; he hinted that the beaiitifidly moulded arm 
needed no ornament to set it oflT; and her manner was a 
tacit admission that she acknowledged the truth of his re- 
mark. She was not ignorant of her attractions; — she liked 
the homage they procured her; and rejoiced in this public 
triumph. 

The bracelet destined for Cecil was far more valuable. 
It was composed of exquisite cameos, and might, from the 
grace of the designs, and the beauty of the execution, have 
won the admiration of the most stoical; yet it was evident 
that she looked upon it with indiflerence if not dislike — 
that she shrank from the ceremony of presentation, and 
would have gladly given up the bauble, beautiful as it was, 
to have been spared that public triumph in which her lady- 


192 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ship delighted. In compliance with her wish, Sir Thomas 
merely said that he felt much honored in bestowing the 
prize won by her skill; but his softened look and tone re- 
vealed what his lips did not venture to disclose. 

In spite of every effort, Cecil’s hand shook as the brace- 
let was clasped upon it; and as she turned aside to avoid 
general observation, Robert saw that her cheek was of an 
ashy paleness. 

For an hour or two the company strolled on the lawn 
and through the grounds; or shot in parties, according to 
their own pleasure; then the ladies having taken off their 
bonnets and arranged their hair the whole assemblage ad- 
journed to the ball-room. 

“ Will you be our vis-a-vis?^^ asked Sir Thomas as Fitz 
Elwyn passed him to lead out Lady Barbara. 

The viscount nodded assent; and Sir Thomas remarked 
to Cecil, whose side he had scarcely left throughout the 
day: — 

“We should stand opposite to each other, being the 
victors. I am afraid you do not like my friend as much as 
I would have you like him; his coldness is only seeming, 
I assure you. Under that frigid exterior, beats one of the 
warmest of hearts, and most unselfish of spirits. Though 
only a few months older, his steady judgment and candid 
friendship have saved me from innumerable faults and fol- 
lies, to use no harsher names.” 

Cecil looked none the colder on her partner for this frank 
eulogium on his friend; but a call to take their places pre- 
cluded a reply. 

It was Cecil’s first scene of gaiety since her parent’s 
death, now nine months since; and it was natural that the 
circumstance should strike on her memory, and fill her 
mind with painful thoughts. She had only consented to 
dance at Mrs. Ashton’s earnest entreaties; and when the 
music struck up, she grew paler and paler, shuddering 
when her hands first touched the hands of Lord Fitz 
Elwyn and Lady Barbara in pursuance of the figure of the 
quadrille; and so pallid did she become, that she overheard 
her ladyship remark it; and on looking up met the vis- 
count’s eyes fixed anxiously upon her. The consciousness 
of being observed roused her to exertion; and controlling 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


193 


all show of painful emotion, by a powerful effort, she con- 
cluded the dance if not with spirit, yet with a grace that 
rendered her apparent languor a subject of admiration to 
many of the spectators, who never guessed the agony that 
caused her languid step. 

No sooner was the dance concluded, than Mr. Fleetwood 
claimed her as his partner; and Sir Thomas, having failed 
to convince her of the propriety of retaining him as her 
cavalier throughout the evening as well as the morning, was 
compelled to resign her, and console himself with Emma, 
who, before the close of the set, had won herself the second 
place in his esteem by her warm praise of Cecil; and the 
patience with which she listened to his lover-like rhapso- 
dies. 

“ Miss Ashton is a very nice girl; so warm-hearted — so 
much attached to her friend; — next to Miss Clare, she is 
the nicest girl I know,” was Sir Thomas Willerton’s 
thought as he resigned her to her mother; and then sought 
Cecil, whom he had secured as his vis-d~visy much to Fleet- 
wood’s annoyance; but Cecil was not in the dancing-room: 
— she had quitted it just before with Edward Ashton, who, 
hearing her complain of the heat, had led her into an outer 
apartment, which was much cooler and nearly deserted, 

“ The fatigue and excitement have been too much for 
you,” he remarked with his usual considerate kindness, as 
he felt how heavily she hung on his arm. 

She did not speak — her whole frame shook; and when 
he caught a glimpse of her bent face, it was as the face of 
a corpse. It was not the first time this day that the lip and 
cheek had been white as marble. 

“You are ill — you are fainting. Let me call my mother!” 
exclaimed Edward in alarm. 

“No, no; call no one; I am quite well now, or shall be 
in a minute,” answered Cecil, controlling the weakness of 
the body, as she had done before, by the power of the 
mind. “ The ball-room was so very warm; — a few mi- 
nutes in this cool and quiet apartment will quite restore 
me.” 

“ I doubt it,” replied her companion shaking his head, as 
he led her to a seat. “ You are not strong enough yet to 
play the rake.” 

Yol. I. — 17 


194 


'IHE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I fear not; but you must keep this a secret for to-night 
at least. 1 hate observation; and have already attracted too 
much.” 

“I will not betray you against your will; but the ball has 
only just begun, and will be kept up till late. How will 
you be able to endure it for some hours longer?” 

“I cannot tell,” replied Cecil in such a despairing tone, 
and with such a fitful fire in her eye, that Edward grew 
more and more alarmed. 

“ You are afraid of my kind mother’s fussing, I can see 
that; but something must be done. I am sure you could 
not stand if you tried. Let me call Miss Wilder! — she has 
been watching you all day, one moment talking so gaily, 
and the next looking so fearfully ill. I will answer for her 
discretion; and she is always ready in any emergency.” 

A smile played round Cecil’s lips at his confidence in 
Miss Wilder’s discretion, and his proposition to summon 
her instead of his sister; but it was chased away by a sigh. 

Without fathoming all her thoughts, he read enough to 
awaken a blushing consciousness; but seeing Miss W^ilder 
standing alone in the doorway at the moment, he took 
Cecil’s silence for consent, and advancing towards her ex- 
plained sufficient to induce her to hurry to Miss Clare, and 
offer her services with a zeal, yet judgment, that proved her 
possessed of the discretion imputed to her. 

“ The air has been very oppressive for an invalid; and 
you have been exerting yourself to seem gay, when your 
heart was sad: I could see that, though 1 have had little 
cause for sadness myself; and now' you are afraid of con- 
fessing faintness, lest you should be stared at, talked to, and 
condoled with; perhaps paragraphed in the County Chro- 
nicle. Would you like to go home immediately, if I could 
manage it for you quietly?” 

“ Yes, very much!” replied Cecil looking almost as ad- 
miringly at Helen as Edward himself. “ But I do not see 
how that can be managed, so 1 will endeavor to bear the 
heat; for Emma and Sarah are enjoying themselves great- 
ly.” 

“You are a dear, kind soul, always thinking more of 
others than yourself, as Mr. Edward Ashton says,” cried 
Helen warmly; “ but you must submit to me now. I 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


195 


know mamma is tired and anxious to go home; and it 
will be very little out of our way to set you down at Ashton 
Grove,” 

“ No;” said Cecil decidedly; “ that would be taking you 
away from a gay and happy scene. If Mrs. Wilder will 
give me a seat, you can occupy my place in Mrs. Ash- 
ton’s carriage.” 

“ Ay, that is just the thing! What a capital contriver you 
are!” cried Edward Ashton; “ and so considerate for every 
body.” 

Cecil and Helen smiled; and the latter went to arrange 
the matter thus with her parents. 

“ It is all settled, dear Miss Clare,” she said, returning 
after a few minutes absence. “ Papa is gone for the car- 
riage, which will soon be ready; and I have told him that 
you are very tired and must not be worried about his new 
bridge, or the Pferdknabewasserunger; so he will leave 
you in peace. And now shall I go and tell Mrs. Ashton 
that you are too much fatigued to stay; and that she is to 
take charge of troublesome me?” 

“ A thousand thanks for what you have done, and what 
you purpose doing, dear Helen,” said Cecil, truly grateful for 
the attentions of the warm hearted girl, whose high spirits 
never led her into forgetfulness of the feelings of others; 
“ But I think I had better go and tell Mrs. Ashton so my- 
self, or, in her kindness, she will be sure to fancy that I am 
dying, and so hurry you all away that she may soothe my 
death-bed.” 

“ I should not wonder if she did; but never think of that; 
you are not equal to the exertion.” 

“It ought to be done — and I will do it,” replied Cecil 
resolutely. 

“ Yes; you would do it, though certain that it would cause 
your death,” observed Helen, looking at her with mingled 
wonder and admiration. “ I do not pretend to understand 
you; but I am sure I could love you much if you would 
let me.” 

“ Do love me then,” replied Cecil with a look and tone 
that might almost have elicited some spark of affection from 
a mummy; “ and believe there is nothing to understand.” 

“ The first is already accomplished; and if I can not pro- 


196 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


mise the last, I will at least not pain you with questions 
and remarks,” whispered Helen softly, so softly that even 
Edward, wlio had generally a quick ear for her words, 
could not catch the sentence. 

“ Thank you:” said Cecil with a slight tremor in her 
voice. 

“ Where is Miss Clare?” demanded Sir Thomas Willer- 
ton of Fitz Elwyn, as he was sitting in a quiet corner with 
Lady Barbara Hetherton, who had dismissed her second 
partner rather suddenly, and declined accepting a third. 

“ I do not know. Why do you apply to me?” replied 
Fitz Elwyn coloring slightly. “ You had better ask Mr. 
Fleetwood with whom I saw her dancing merrily not many 
minutes since.” 

“ She dances merrily with every one,” replied Sir Tho- 
mas a little pettishly. “ Fleetwood does not know where 
she is, for I have just heard Miss Ashton ask him; and I 
am afraid she is ill, for she has changed color several times 
to-day, just as she did at that Isle of Wight party, which 
so knocked her up.” 

“ We will seek her;” said Fitz Elwyn, throwing a hur- 
ried glance round the room, and then making his way 
through the waltzers towards the outer apartment, accom- 
panied by his friend. 

“ Oh! here you are, Miss Clare. Fitz Elwyn and I 
have been seeking you every where, fearing that the heat 
might have overcome you, but that brilliant bloom puts my 
fears to shame,” exclaimed Sir Thomas, encountering Ce- 
cil with Edward and Miss Wilder as they were returning to 
the ball-room. 

“ Notwithstanding that bloom, and the effect of the heat 
of which you speak, I have coaxed Miss Clare to be pru- 
dent and return home immediately, as she is suffering much 
from fatigue,” replied Helen Wilder, understanding with 
feminine tact that Cecil would not quarrel with her for play- 
ing spokeswoman. 

“I am very sorry,” began the baronet. 

“You ought to be very glad, that I have sufficient pru- 
dence to follow good advice, and know when I have had 
gaiety enough,” said Cecil, interrupting his regrets and pro- 
-testalions. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


197 


“ I never doubted your possessing all the cardinal virtues; 
but I hoped you could bear more than when we first met 
at Alum Bay.” 

“I hope I can bear much more, Sir Thomas; but one 
must not put one’s strength to too severe a trial.” 

“ And this has been a trying day for you,” observed Ro- 
bert Ashton, who had joined the party unperceived. 

“Yes; archery and dancing are not to be enjoyed with- 
out some penalty, as even I can tell, who am in such strong 
health,” interposed Helen Wilder. “So, if you please, 
let us pass on to tell Mrs. Ashton of our arrangements.” 

Mrs. Ashton wondered and regretted: offered to go home 
— then consented to stay, on condition of Cecil’s promis- 
ing to take a certain number of drops — in such a quantity 
of water — from a certain little phial — standing on a certain 
shelf in her medicine closet. 

Emma being in another part of the room was spared all 
present anxiety. 

“ You are sure that it is nothing but fatigue,” inquired 
Mrs. Ashton for the sixth time, as Cecil was departing. 
Captain Wilder having announced the carriage to be waiting. 

“ You are quite certain that it is nothing but fatigue?” 
repeated Robert with one of those looks from which Cecil 
always shrank. 

“ And the heat, and the bustle; you forget how little I am 
used to crowds and hot rooms,” she replied with a prompt- 
ness that satisfied the mother if not the son. 

Fitz Elwyn merely bowing as she passed, turned to con- 
verse with Lady Barringham; but Sir Thomas Willerton 
and Mr. Fleetwood attended Cecil to the door, both endea- 
voring to secure the honor of handing her into the carriage 
— both expressing their regret at her departure, and their 
intention of inquiring after her health on the morrow, 
though her gay replies to their adieux gave them no reason 
to believe that that health was seriously affected. 

The carriage drove off, and Cecil sank back in the corner, 
undisturbed by any remarks on the new bridge, or the 
PJerdknabewasserunger ; and the gentlemen returned to the 
ball-room. 

To Mrs. Ashton’s great delight Sir Thomas rejoined her, 
and danced a second time with Emma; whilst, as if to coin- 
17 * 


198 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


plete and crown her satisfaction, both her sons danced with 
Miss Wilder and Miss Knight; and her daughters were de- 
clared to be the prettiest untitled girls in the room. Vis- 
ions of weddings blessed her sleeping and walking dreams. 

Lork Fitz Elwyn danced little, and expressed himself 
perfectly ready to depart when his friend proposed retiring. 

“ What a happy day!” cried Sarah as she was waiting 
for the carriage. 

“ You have had flattery enough to turn your head, if 
that can make you happy,” remarked Robert sharply. 

“And you flirting enough with Miss Power to occasion 
many comments;” retorted Sarah. “I was congratulated 
on the chance of having her for a sister-in-law.” 

“ They were simpletons who did so. No man marries 
the girl he flirts with; take that as a warning, Sarah.” 

“ I doubt the truth of that assertion; men are often led 
on till honor compels an offer,” observed Emma gravely, 
having remarked with anxiety her brother’s violent flirtation 
with the coquettish Miss Power. 

“ I am off’! Even Charles the Twelfth of Sweden could 
not stand two women at once — so young in years — so very 
old in wisdom and experience,” replied Robert sarcasti- 
cally. ^ 


END OF VOL. I. 


THE 


UIET HUSBAND, 

BY 


MISS ELLEN PICKERING, 

) » 




4 - - 

AUTHOR OF 


“THE MERCHANT’S DAUGHTER,” “THE PRINCE 
AND THE PEDLAR,” “ NAN DARRELL,” 
“THE FRIGHT,” &c. 




IN TWO VOLUMES. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

CAREY & HART. 


1840 . 



4 - 





Philadelphia: 

T. K. & P. G. Collins, Printers, 
No. 1, Lodge Alley. 


^ i^ a. 


THE 

QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER I. 

Cecil having, in compliance with Mrs. Ashton’s advice, 
consented to take her breakfast in bed, and remain quiet 
till two, that active lady employed herself in regulating the 
movements of others; and so persevering was she in her 
laudable endeavors that by a quarter past one her husband 
and two eldest sons were on their road to Lindmoor to 
leave their cards on Lord Fitz Elwyn and Sir Thomas 
Willerton. Mr. Ashton had said something about writing 
a letter, which should have been written a week before: — 
Robert had protested against such an early call as bearing 
the appearance of tuft hunting, expressing himself at the 
same time in no friendly te^ins towards either the viscount 
or his friend; and Edward had declared, with a blush, that 
Captain Wilder desired to consult him about his bridge; — 
but sayings, protestations, and declarations were all in vain! 
Mrs. Ashton would have her \^ay; and her husband and 
sons were compelled to yield for the sake of peace and 
quiet. 

Early, however, as they were in the field, Sir Thomas 
Willerton was on foot before them; and they encountered 
in the park. 

“ We were just coming to call on you and Lord Fitz 
VoL. IL--2 


14 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Elwyn,” said Mr. Ashton. “ Being next neighbors we 
wish to be on friendly terms.” 

“ The viscount, I am sure, will feel as much gratified as 
myself by this kind visit. Allow me to return with you to 
Lindmoor,” replied Sir Thomas with great courtesy of 
speech, but with looks that said I would much rather go 
on with you to Ashton Grove. “ I was on my way to in- 
quire after Miss Clare; and Fitz Elvvyn is out in the woods 
with the steward; but I will send for him.” 

“ No, Sir Thomas; I cannot permit that, for his lordship 
must have much to do on his first arrival; nor will we 
cross your intention of inquiring after Miss Clare, if you 
will waive ceremony and consider our visit paid,” replied 
Mr. Ashton to the great delight of the baronet, who readily 
acceded to the proposition. 

Edward slipped away down a bye path to Captain Wil- 
der’s; but the other three were soon in the drawing-room 
at Ashton Grove, where Sir Thomas, after many eager in- 
quiries concerning Cecil’s health, established himself very 
much to his own satisfaction by her side, talking to her in 
his usual gay and animated style of this, and that, and the 
other; touching on almost every topic under the sun — flit- 
ting about from subject to subject, like a bee or a butterfly 
from flower to flower; and yet in all that he said showing 
that anxiety to please, that delicate empressement so flat- 
tering to her to whom it was addressed. It was impossi- 
ble not to be amused by, and interested in the speaker; 
and Cecil, who had looked dreadfully ill on his first en- 
trance, was lured into forgetfulness of her headache by his 
pleasant “ talkee, talkee,” as he himself described it, when 
declaring his intention of, denting himself to her for the 
next two hours. ^ 

Mr. Fleetwood too kept his whispered j)romise, and 
showed equal anxiety for Cecil’s health, though that anxiety 
was not expressed in sucl^ original and amusing terms, he 
being more steady and less given to hyperbole than the 
merry baronet. 

“ There, Mrs. Ashton; I told you that I should be of 
great service to Miss Clare. See how much better she 
looks!” exclaimed Sir Thomas Willerton as his hostess re- 
entered the apartment after giving some orders, which she 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


15 


fancied required her presence in the house-keeper’s room. 
“ Half an hour of my conversation is worth a hundred of 
your drops, nothing like making your patients laugh.” 

“ I cannot deny that Cecil looks better; though I am not 
sure whether that flush is not fever; and my drops are most 
excellent.” 

“ High laud to your drops! Mrs. Ashton, which I doubt 
not are next, if not before the elixir of life; but never call 
that exquisite bloom the blush of fever. She was a prey 
to les vupeurs^ but I banished the blues by telling her how 
I was quizzing Fitz Elwyn this morning about his turning 
Benedict; and his railing against the sex consequent 
thereon. How I should like to see you perform Beatrice 
to his Benedict! You would act it inimitably. Miss Clare! 
Could Shakspeare arise from his grave he would declare 
you to be his original. Shall we perform ‘ Much ado 
about nothing?’ ” 

“ As you please. Sir Thomas; provided that you do not 
ask me to play Beatrice; she was never one of my favorite 
characters.” 

“ You prefer Miranda,” remarked Robert quickly. 

“ Do you indeed? I am so delighted to hear it! So 
enraptured to think that my yacht bears that name?” ex- 
claimed the baronet, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “ I 
would I might play Ferdinand!” 

Miss Clare, I am sure, has far too much delicacj to 
perform in any play,” observed Mr. Fleetwood with that 
unrequired severity with which grave men, when not in 
good humor, are apt to rebuke the harmless gaiety of others. 

“ Pooh, pooh! Mr. Fleetwood; you shall perform a 
part yourself. We will assign you Prospero.” 

You had better not, lest he should forbid your union 
with the fair Miranda; and lay upon you a double task, with 
pains and aches besides,” cried Robert, highly amused at 
this cross firing between the rivaip. 

“ The mistress which I serve, quickens what’s dead. 

And makes my labors pleasures; and she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed, 

And he’s composed of harshness.” 

replied Sir Thomas. 


16 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I am not by any means convinced that the flush on 
Cecil’s cheek is not fever, for it varies every moment; now 
deeper — now paler,” said Mrs. Ashton, who had been 
thinking far more of doctoring the most patient of her 
patients, than of the possibility of Mr. Fleetwood fancying, 
as other actors have done before, that the hero of the piece 
should have been assigned to him. “Let me feel your 
pulse, my love.” 

“ No, no, my dear Mrs. Ashton, I am well — quite well,” 
answered Cecil, endeavoring, but in vain, to withdraw her 
hand. 

“ Well, Cecil! with such a pulse as that? Why it goes 
one — two — three — hop! — like a child taking its first danc- 
ing lesson; and your cheek has deepened into an absolute 
crimson. I hope you are not going to have the scarlet 
fever; — old Granny Figgins, 1 hear, is laid up with it, as 
well as her son, and little grand-daughter; I shall pre- 
scribe — ” 

A general laugh drowned Mrs. Ashton’s words; and the 
prescription was lost, to the great disadvantage of all likely 
to be attacked with the scarlet fever. 

“ My dear mother, you are enough to frighten a timid 
patient to death. You stare and make every one else stare 
at Miss Clare; and then, when she blushes under the gene- 
ral inspection, you predict nothing less than the scarlet 
fever — even the scarlatina will not content you,” exclaimed 
Robert Ashton, for once coming to Cecil’s relief. 

“ Is that all?” asked Mrs. Ashton, very simply, half dis- 
appointed at being cheated out of her doctoring. 

“ Quite enough I think to account for any changes of 
complexion,” replied Cecil gaily. 

“ It may be so, my dear; B^ut I am not quite satisfied. 
I shall watch you all day; and by the evening shall be able 
to tell for a certainly.” 

“ Let me share your watch; there should always be a 
consultation in difficult cases,” said the baronet archly. 

“Will you stay and take your dinner with us then?” 
said his hostess catching his meaning. 

“ With the greatest pleasure. I was in hopes you would 
take my hint, which I was ashamed to make more broad, 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


17 


yet half feared you might not understand in spite of the 
pity you bestowed last night on our bachelor life.” 

“ Ah, yes, you must find it very dull without the earl 
and countess. And what will Lord Fitz Elwyn do by 
himself? I must send and invite him to join you here.” 

“ You are very kind, my dear Mrs. Ashton; but I am 
afraid — indeed I am certain that your kindness would be 
vain, as far as regards the viscount, since all my eloquence 
and the charms of the ladies, set off to the extent of my 
poor abilities, failed to persuade him to accompany me 
hither. He had business with the steward in the morning 
— and business with the steward in the evening; — and 
begged to be no tie on my movement. It was plain that 
he wished to get rid of me, so I had nothing left, but to 
play irresistible and win an invitation from you.” 

“ Dear me! I hope he does not inherit the disposition of 
the late earl, who shut himself up and would see none of 
his neighbors. That would be shocking in so young a 
man.” 

“ Not a family malady, I trust, Mrs. Ashton, only a 
touch of the blues; he has them some times; and perhaps a 
little brouillerie with Lady Barbara, to judge from his rail- 
ing at womankind.” 

“ I wonder at that; I am sure I thought her ladyship 
seemed very gracious.” 

“ So did I; but then a nothing seen by no one else will 
vex a lover; we are exacting tyrants.” 

“ We — Sir Thomas! then you allow — ” 

“ That I am infinitely obliged to you for inviting me to 
dinner,” interposed the baronet gaily; trying to laugh off’ 
his involuntary confession. 

Mrs. Ashton had the good sense and delicacy to drop the 
subject to please the baronet; and, then not to be partial in 
her favors, extended her dinner invitation to Mr. Fleet- 
wood. 

“ That woman is like the girl who picked a plateful of 
delicious strawberries, and then let them fall into the mud. 
What could she ask him for?” thought the baronet; but 
Mr. Fleetwood to his evident regret, was obliged to fulfil 
' an ei^agement full four miles off, and soon after took his 
leav^ 


2 * 


18 


THE QUIET HUSBAND, 


** With visage nothing kind.” 

My dear Cecil, yon have lost all your bloom; and are 
looking as pale as death again,” observed Mrs. Ashton, 
when Mr. Fleetwood had taken his departure. 

“ If you intend to watch me in this way, I really must 
keep my room,” replied Cecil annoyed at being so com- 
mented on. 

“ Instead of seclusion, I recommend a stroll in the cool 
shady shrubberies; the air will refresh you,” said Sir Tho- 
mas, and Emma seconding the proposal she and Cecil went 
to put on their bonnets. 

“ I am not in a humor for talking, Emma, so pray faites 
les frais de la conversation^'^ whispered Cecil as they 
approached the drawing-room. 

Emma looked a little surprised, but noting her compa- 
nion’s heavy eyes, nodded assent. 

Robert accompanied them, indulging in his usual sarcas- 
tic strain; but after a lime his restless mood led him to seek 
amusement elsewhere; and Charles and Sarah having set 
off on a scrambling expedition, Emma and Cecil possessed 
themselves of a cool seat, whilst Sir Thomas, throwing 
himself at their feet ran on in his usual rattling style, as if 
he had not been talking for the last two hours, and would 
not be expected to talk for some hours longer. A refresh- 
ing breeze played among the tangled branches; and Cecil 
leaning her aching head against a tree left her companion to’ 
answer the baronet’s sallies; and on the plea of the same 
headache retired early, after satisfying Mrs. Ashton that she 
was not yet the prey of the scarlet fever. 

When Sir Thomas took his leave all were loud in his 
praise except Robert; but as Robert rarely praised man, 
woman, or child, without many qualifying buts, his depre- 
ciating comments had no effect on the general opinion. 

Prepossessions are usually mutual; they were certainly 
so in the present case; and the baronet seemed to act on the 
conviction, for he was at Ashton Grove early on the mor- 
row to inquire after Cecil’s headache, where he again en- 
countered Mr. Fleetwood, who had brought over a book for 
Cecil’s perusal, criticising its contents with such admirable 
taste and judgment that Sir Thomas, whilst marking the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


19 


attention lent to his conversation by Miss Clare, began to 
think that he might prove a most dangerous rival; and 
blamed Mrs. Ashton in his heart for over hospitality in again 
extending to him the invitation to stay to dinner, which had 
been so eagerly accepted by himself. 

Both sought to converse with Cecil, and both were ob- 
liged to confess to themselves that she received their atten- 
tions with perfect self-possession, affording neither a decided 
triumph over the other. The baronet was the most hope- 
ful; but his jealousy of his rival showed that he did not 
consider himself secure. 

If Mr. Fleetwood could bring books, so could Sir Tho- 
mas Willerton from the extensive library at Lindmoor, 
which, on learning his wishes. Lord Fitz Elwyn desired 
him to consider as his own; arid the succeeding day again 
saw the zealous baronet hastening towards Ashton Grove 
armed with poetry and history, tours and essays; with part 
of which he insisted on loading the viscount, who accom- 
panied him to return Mr. Ashton’s visit. 

Cecil received the books with many thanks, and con- 
versed with more than her usual gaiety with Sir Thomas 
whilst his friend held a quiet talk apart with Mr. Ashton 
who thought him quite as courteous and gentlemanly, but 
not as clear headed as on their first introduction. 

Pleading business with a tenant, the necessity of over- 
looking workmen, and preparing for the reception of his 
father and mother, who were shortly expected, as an excuse 
for a brief visit, and declining to dine at Ashton Grove, 
Lord Fitz Elwyn soon took his departure; but he went 
alone, the baronet remaining till long past ten at night. Tlie 
next day, and the next he came again; till he was looked on 
as a daily visitor; and his coming expected as a thing of 
course. 

Mr. Fleetwood with the same inclination to play the ar- 
dent lover had not the same opportunity. Staunton was 
eight miles from Ashton Grove; and its master being the 
descendant of one of the oldest county families, young, 
rich, and single to boot, he had so many pressing friends, 
who would take no denial, that he found it impossible to 
equal the baronet in the length and frequency of his visits; 
still he did what he could; and if Cecil did not receive him 


20 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


with as much warmth as she did the baronet, love, which is 
ever so willing to deceive itself, whispered that this frank- 
ness was a’ maiden’s manner towards a friend, rather than 
a favored wooer. Yet at the same time he would gladly 
have changed places with his rival, so fantastical and incon- 
sistent are the followers of Cupid. 

“ Sir Thomas Willerton and Mr. Fleetwood have been 
here almost every day for the last three weeks,” remarked 
Mrs. Ashton to herTiusband, who was leaning back in his 
favorite easy chair with a book in his hand. 

“ Yes, my dear.” 

“They would not come so often for nothing,” continued 
Mrs. Ashton, in hopes of eliciting a more compendious 
reply from her silent mate. 

“You ask them — don’t you.” 

“ I only ask them to dine here — but what do they come 
in the morning for?” 

“ Because they like it, I suppose.” 

“Is that all you suppose? If so, you have made little 
use of your eyes. I tell you they come after Cecil Clare; 
and a fortunate girl she is to have two such lovers; but I 
don’t know which to favor, as I cannot, for the life of me, 
tell which she intends to have.” 

“ Perhaps neither, my dear.” 

“La, Mr. Ashton! now that is just like you who can 
never come to a decision. As if any sensible girl, situated 
as she is, would refuse two such lovers; the only difficulty 
can be which to select. Sir Thomas is more lively and 
amusing; but then Mr. Fleetwood is more steady. He has 
not a title; but his fortune is quite as good, or better than 
the baronet’s — his family older; and should Mr. Pennant 
die, who they say cannot live long, he would be pretty sure 
to come in for the county; and perhaps hereafter be made a 
lord. Which do you think I had better advise her to have?” 

“I think you had better let things take their own course, 
and give no advice unless consulted. Cecil is able to judge 
for herself; and may refuse both.” 

“There, Mr. Ashton; that is just like you again — never 
will take the trouble to give advice. If I did not look 
after the children they would get into all sorts of scrapes; 
and there is no keeping things straight as it is. Cecil, 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


21 


I will say, does exactly as I could wish, her; indeed 
sometimes seems over scrupulous, for she always tries to 
keep Emma near her, and prevent a tete-a-tete with Sir 
Thomas or Mr. Fleetwood, particularly the former. Even 
when they all walk out togetlier she contrives to have 
Emma near. I hinted to her that she might as well be out 
of the way some day to give the baronet an opportunity of 
proposing; but she colored up scarlet, poor girl, thinking I 
intended to blame her; and assured me that Cecil had ear- 
nestly begged her to remain. As for Robert, I cannot at 
all make him out; to be sure, I never could. At first he 
made a point of being present whenever Sir Thomas and 
young Fleetwood were here, though at the same time he 
used to say rude things to both; and try to set them together 
by the ears; and now, though more civil, he never seems 
to care whether they come or go. Then I cannot persuade 
him to call on the Wilders, though I tell him that Helen 
will be offended at his flirting so outrageously with Miss 
Power, whilst Edward is for ever there; morning, noon, 
and night, instead of going to Mrs. Praed’s, and strength- 
ening his favor with Miss Knight. How odd it is too that 
Lord Fitz Elwyn never comes; he has not dined at Ashton 
Grove once; and the fruit and flowers sent to Cecil are to 
please Sir Thomas, I suppose, for the viscount seems more 
inclined to shun than to seek us. I am sure he turned away 
from me in the woods the other day; yet he is pleasant when 
obliged to speak, that I admit. I take it he is very proud 
and shy.” 

“I doubt his being happy,” remarked Mr. Ashton, rather 
strangely for him, as he generally saw little, and said less of 
the movements in mind or body of those around him. 

“Not happy! Mr. Ashton. Dear me, how can you say 
such a thing? Is not he young, and handsome, and a vis- 
count? And is not he going to be married to Lady Barbara 
Hetherton, whose large fortune will enable him to keep up 
the title?” 

“ He may be all this yet not happy; Lady Barbara is not 
much to to my taste.” 

“Now, my dear Mr. Ashton, how can a man be all this 
and yet not happy? But that is just like one of your odd 


22 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


fancies. And why don’t you like Lady Barbara? I do not 
think you ever spoke three words to her in your life.” 

“ Perhaps that is the very reason, my dear. Had she 
begged tp be introduced, and flattered me by her condescen- 
sion, I might have cried her up as perfection.” 

“ I dare say she would had you been a lord, or in posses- 
sion of an enormous rent-roll.” 

“That is just my opinion, my dear; and therefore I do 
not like Lady Barbara Hetherton.” 

“ Well, to be sure, I do not much like her ladyship my- 
self, though she is handsome; but still I do not see why 
Lord Fitz Elwyn should be unhappy; he need not marry 
her I suppose if he does not like it.” 

“Possibly not; but there are many things in this world 
that we do not see.” 

“ That is because we do not look about us, Mr. Ashton. 
What is the use of eyes and ears if we do not use them?” 

It is probable that Mr. Ashton, who was deep in an in- 
teresting work, thought that his lady would have seen, 
heard, and said enough with one eye, one ear, and half a 
tongue; but if so, he did not give the idea utterance, and 
his wife proceeded. 

“ Lord and Lady Lindmoor will be down to-morrow; of 
course, llicy will be at Church on the Sunday, so we must 
call on the Monday; and depend upon it I will look through 
them; for I cannot understand why their son should be un- 
happy.” 

“ I do not say that Lord Fitz Elwyn is unhappy, for I 
really can tell nothing about it; so pray, my dear, do get 
such a fancy out of your head; and above all do not name 
it to any one. A young man may have sudden contractions 
of the brow; and be a little distrait without being unhappy.” 

“As if I should say a word about it to any one! You 
should know me better, Mr. Ashton. When did I tell any 
thing that should have been kept secret? But if that is all 
the reason you have for thinking his lordship unhappy we 
need not trouble ourselves about him; he is in love, and 
that accounts for every thing.” 

“ Very likely; I did not think of that.” 

“ No; you never think of any thing.” 

“ You think enough for us both, my dear; two such 


23 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 

thinkers in a family would never At any rate I ag-ree 
with you that we need not trouble ourselves about Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, whether in love or out of love; happy or un- 
happy.” 

“ I do not quite know that, my dear. I should like to 
come at the truth. You never give yourself trouble about 
any thing, or any body; and Flinter is much the same. — 
He has got very impertinent of late; but I suppose it would 
be of no use to tell you, since you always uphold him. I 
understand he has the impudence to repeat what I told you 
once before that he intends to live and die in your service; 
for that you would not know what to do without him.” 

“ He is pretty correct there; I do not suppose we shall 
part in this life.” 

“ It quite provokes me, Mr. Ashton, to hear a man of 
sense, as you are, uphold such a bigoted ignorant person in 
his impertinence. Would you believe me! he has never 
been to see the harrow at Mrs. Praed’s; and all because it 
is new; and he will persist in calling Frazer a furriner^ and 
abusing the Scotch, because they eat oatmeal porridge, 
sheep’s head, and haggis.” 

“ In all of which 1 think they sh«w a very bad taste,” 
observed Mr. Ashton with one of those quiet smiles, which 
were at times so provoking to his lady% 

“ Ah, my dear! that is because you never tasted any of 
the dishes properly dressed; for Lord Glenfillan assured 
me the other day that they were very delicious as eaten in 
Scotland. I was to have taken a lesson ^rom his Scotch 
cook; but she went away in such a hurry that I could not 
manage it.” 

“ I am very glad that you did not, my dear.” 

“There now, that is just like you, Mr. Ashton; you dis- 
like new things nearly as much as your bailiff. I was tell- 
ing him just now of the new German machine that Captain 
Wilder is so anxious about; I mean the one that ploughs, 
drills, plants, and waters all at once; on which Flinter gave 
his usual incredulous grunt, and asked if it did not cut, 
wash, cook and eat into the bargain? In short, he had the 
impertinence to tell me that he thought it all a hum.” 

“ Then Flinter and I are pretty much of the same opinion, 
my dear.” 


24 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ A parcel of nonsense, Mr. Ashton. As if any one 
would dare to hoax Captain Wilder, who is so clever in all 
these things! But I might just as well talk to Flinter as 
you about new inventions. Like master — like man,” cried 
Mrs. Ashton flouncing out of the room. 

Mr. Ashton resumed his book on the instant, as if he had 
never been interrupted; but scarcely had his eye settled on 
the proper line ere his lady again appeared, and, as it 
seemed;— 


“ Big with the fate of Cato and of Rome.” 

Mr. Ashton looking up let his book drop again on his knee 
in silent endurance; whilst his wife, closing the door, ad- 
vanced towards him. 

“ You are so provoking, Mr. Ashton, never paying heed 
to what I tell you, that 1 quite forgot to say that I had 
found you a tenant for Woodside. Lucky for you that there 
is some one who looks after your interests, as you never 
trouble yourself about these things. He seems a very 
agreeable person, and has a great deal to say for himself. — 
I found him there this morning looking over the cottage; 
and we had a good deal of talk together. He has been 
many years in South America; and has promised me some 
new flowers, and a few grains of a new sort of corn; but I 
dare say Flinter will not sow them. He liked the cottage 
very well, and said he would come and settle with you about 
terms. We talked a long time about farming, and garden- 
ing, and our opinions agreed exactly. I almost wonder that 
he has not been here before this. Ah! here he is, coming 
across the park. That is lucky; because I can introduce 
him, and settle all the little things that you never think of.” 

“ And who may this new tenant be, my dear, of whom 
you so much approve?” 

“ His name is Lake; and he is just returned from South 
America, as I told you before. He is not young, and he is 
not handsome; in fact, he is old, and ugly; but that will 
not make him a worse tenant.” 

“ Certainly not. Is he a single man? Can he give a 
satisfactory reference?” 

“ He has no wife; but a niece is to keep his house for 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


25 


him; and he will give a reference to his bankers in town, 
or pay half yearly in advance. He was consulting with me 
about making great improvements — pulling down the gar- 
den wall, that I always wished removed, and putting it fur- 
ther out, which will be a great advantage.” 

“ And no expense,” remarked her husband drily. 

“ Expense, Mr. Ashton! And this to me! I am sure I 
am never an advocate for expense. But there is Mr. Lake 
ringing at the bell. And bless me! how untidy the room 
is! All those books about on the table, instead of being put 
away in their proper places on the shelves; and you have 
turned up the covering of the easy chair fidgeting about. — 
It is very odd, my dear, you always sit untidily.” 

Mr. Ashton smoothed down the covering of the easy 
chair, whilst his wife began poking the rebellious books 
into proper order, in the midst of which task the door opened 
and admitted Mr. Lake, old and ugly as he had been de- 
scribed, being literally seamed with the smallpox; whilst an 
ill made wig, that came low on his forehead, gave a disa- 
greeable and sinister expression to features, that would not 
otherwise have been unpleasing, though plain. 

Mrs. Ashton received him most graciously, he having 
won her heart by agreeing with her about the garden 
wall; but from her kind and courteous, though generally 
silent husband, his reception was any thing but friendly, 
from the moment he had caught a full view of his features 
and heard his voice. 

“ Mrs. Ashton I presume has informed you that the pur- 
pose of my visit is to become your tenant for Woodside,” 
began Mr. Lake, addressing his silent host with an ease 
and frankness that showed his inclination to be on friendly 
terms with his landlord. 

“ She has, sir; but I have half changed my mind about 
letting the cottage,” replied Mr. Ashton with a coldness 
bordering on hauteur; which surprised and vexed his wife. 
It was a manner which she had never observed but once 
before, and then to a person whose dishonorable conduct 
had rendered him an unfit associate for honorable men, 
though he was still tolerated by the world in general. 

“I think you mistake, my dear; it is Woodside which 
this gentleman wishes to take — not Woodbine Cottage.” 
VoL. II.— 3 


26 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I understand him perfectly- It is Woodside which I 
am doubtful of letting; — certainly not at present,” replied 
Mr. Ashton to his wife, without relaxing one whit of his 
former coldness. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Ashton; but I understood from 
your lady that it was to be let.” 

“ I have changed my intentions, sir.” 

“ A very short time since I am to suppose.” 

“ Not very long ago.” 

The stranger looked crossed — colored slightly — paused 
some moments; and then spoke with more than his former 
frankness, though it was observable that when speaking 
he did not look at the person addressed. 

“ I am very sorry for this change in your views, Mr. 
Ashton; for to tell you the truth, I have set my heart on 
being your tenant at Woodside. Perhaps you object to 
me as being a stranger.” 

“ I do not object to you as being a stranger,” replied 
Mr. Ashton intentionally, or unintentionally as it seemed, 
laying a slight emphasis on the last word. Mr. Lake 
looked up — met the eyes of his host — then looked as sud- 
denly on the floor — pattered about with his foot on the car- 
pet for half a minute; and then resumed the conversation 
with his former ease. 

“ I cannot readily give up all hopes of Woodside, so will 
take no positive ref^usal to-day. I have an engagement 
now, which must be kept; but to-morrow at this time, or 
any other more convenient to you, I will call again, when 
I have not a doubt that I shall be able to adduce such 
arguments as will overcome your objections to receiving 
me as your tenant.” 

“ I should be sorry to give you' needless trouble,” began 
Mr. Ashton. 

“ No trouble at all, my dear sir;” observed Mr. Lake, 
interrupting his host and fixing his eye steadily upon him 
as he spoke. “ Positively I will not quit this neighborhood 
without seeing you again; and trying what my eloquence 
can eftect. Will you see me alone to-morrow at eleven?” 

“ Since you will have it so;” replied Mr. Ashton reluc- 
tantly. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


27 


Pardon my pertinacity; but my heart, as I said before, 
is set on renting Woodside. And now — good morning.” 

“What can you mean by not letting the cottage?” de- 
manded Mrs. Ashton, ere the door had quite closed after 
the departing visitor, whom his host had not with his usual 
courtesy attended to the hall. 

“ Just what I said, that I doubt whether I shall let it at 
present. Perhaps Reynolds may like to come there this 
summer.” 

“ The Reynoldses are going to Paris. I do believe you 
have taken a disgust to this stranger because he is ugly.” 

“That is a perfectly new accusation, my dear; and by 
no means a true one,” observed Mr. Ashton in a ruffled 
tone. 

“ Well, you do not like him at any rate; for I saw you 
color and frown the moment he entered; and you spoke as 
I never heard you speak but once before in my life. It is 
very odd that we never fancy the same people? Ah! now 
I see what it is; you think it is not his niece who is to live 
with him.” 

“ It shall not be if I can help it,” exclaimed Mr. Ashton 
with startling vehemence. 

“ Bless me, my dear, there is nothing improper in that. 
What can it matter to you whether a stranger’s niece lives 
with him, or not.” 

“ Oh! nothing: any stranger may have a dozen nieces to 
live with for aught I care — it is nothing to me.” 

“ Yes, but it is something to you, my dear; that is clear 
enough, for I never saw you look so strange before. You 
don’t think he is a fortune hunter coming after one of the 
girls, do you?” 

“ Pooh! Pooh! my dear; let me read my book in peace. 
I have been an hour at this one page.” 

“But really, Mr. Ashton, if you think this, I, as a mo- 
ther ought to be made acquainted with the grounds of your 
suspicion.” 

“I do not think it, my dear. Your chapter of family 
troubles has been long enough for one morning; do let me 
have a little quiet.” 

“ Quiet, Mr. Ashton! that is just like you: as if I ever 
disturbed you except when your duties as a father, master, 


28 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


or landlord require your interference. As for the piece of 
road, I have given that up in despair; but here is Sir Tho- 
mas Willerton coming; and I want to speak to him about 
persuading Lord Fitz Elwyn to cut down some trees in the 
Park at Lindmoor that intercept our view. If they were 
down, or even only some branches cut, we could see for 
miles. I wonder whether his lordship will do it! I am 
sure I have asked him to dinner often enough, though he 
never comes — why 1 cannot tell;” — and away went Mrs. 
Ashton to her husband’s great relief, to attack Sir Thomas 
Willerton about the obstruction to her extensive view, who 
promised to fulfil all her wishes without understanding 
them; the only part of her discourse that rested on his mind 
being that some trees in Lindmoor Park, somewhere or 
nowhere, he did not well know which, prevented her hav- 
ing a peep into another county. Considering this promise 
sufficient to exonerate him from listening to her long, tire- 
some details, he made a dash for the drawing-room, where 
he established himself as usual by Cecil Clare, after paying 
his compliments to the rest of the family, who chanced to 
be all there except Emma, and her father. But he was 
not to be so easily quit of his friendly hostess, who fol- 
lowed him thither, and hearing that he was called away on 
business tormented him with a thousand questions and con- 
jectures to his great annoyance and the equal amusement of 
her eldest and younger sons. 

“ You shall have an abstract of my plans and motions, 
my dear Mrs. Ashton,” cried Sir Thomas Willerton at 
length, finding it impossible to continue his conversation 
with Cecil, as his hostess was resolved on being answered; 
and half provoked out of his good humor by her pertina- 
cious questioning. “ I set off in an hour’s time for my 
uncle’s seat in Staffordshire, incompliance with his wishes, 
made known to me by a letter received this morning. He 
is not well, but is in no danger; and having several children, 
his death, which I should much regret, would bring me no 
accession of fortune. I cannot say how long I may be 
detained in Staffordshire; but you may depend on my re- 
turning as soon as possible, and bringing you the receipt 
for the Saxon pudding as I promised. 'J’his is all the 
information I can give you; so, my dear Miss Clare, do 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


29 


pray let me throw this shawl over your shoulders, and 
come and show me the flower of which you were talking 
yesterday.” 

Cecil looked up in surprise — then, with a blush and a 
smile, led the way to the garden. 

“Humph!” exclaimed Charles, “I smell a rat!” 

“ And so do I,” said his mother. 

“ There are some ignorant people, who take a mouse for 
a rat,” observed Robert sarcastically. 

“ There are some people, who think that no one can see 
but themselves,” replied Mrs. Ashton sharply. 

“ I think it w.ould be quite as well if people would re- 
strain their attention to their own concerns,” remarked 
Edward gravely. 

“ I dare say you do. How are your plans likely to suc- 
ceed at Myrtle Lodge? Will the bridge bear the load you 
would put upon it?” replied Robert laughing. 

It was full half an hour before Cecil and Sir Thomas 
Willerton returned; and when they did so, both were look- 
ing particularly happy; and both had a brighter color than 
usual. 

“ Bless me how lato! I must be off directly,” exclaimed 
the baronet, shaking hands all round. “ Farewell, Miss 
Clare; you will have me in your thoughts I hope till we 
meet again.”' 

“ Doubt it not;” replied Cecil with a smile for which Mr. 
Fleetwood would have given his ears. 

xMrs. Ashton would accompany Sir Thomas to the door 
and along part of the road, under the expectation, as it 
appeared, of hearing something important; but she heard 
nothing except his reiterated assertions of a speedy return. 
“ It might be in a fortnight — it might be sooner — it might 
be later; — but it should be as soon as he could effect it.” 

“ There is Sir Thomas Willerton gone off into Stafford- 
shire; he would not exactly say for what,” was Sarah’s 
salutation to Emma as the latter returned from Mrs. Praed’s, 
where she had spent the morning at that lady’s especial 
request, for the purpose of instructing her in some intri- 
cate stitch. 

“ Where is Cecil?” inquired Emma, quickly. 

“ Here, dear Emma. Come with me,” cried Cecil, 
3 * 


30 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


drawing her arm within hers, and leading her towards her 
dressing-room. 

“ Oh! yes, Cecil can tell you all about it,” remarked 
Sarah ironically, vexed at not being made a confidante. 

“ Well, my dear Emma; when is Cecil to become Eady 
Willerton?” asked Mrs. Ashton of her eldest daughter^ the 
first time she found her alone. 

“ I do not know — I cannot tell — that is — ” 

“You have promised not to reveal the secret,” said Mrs. 
Ashton, closing the sentence of the blushing, stammering 
girl. “ Just as you please, I shall not ask another question, 
though, considering that I have received Cecil as a daugh- 
ter, she might be more open with me.” 

“ Do not blame dear Cecil, mamma; — there are — ” 

“ Reasons I dare say, though I do not understand them, 
Emma; but then I am getting old and stupid. However, 
this I will say, that Cecil’s conduct hitherto has been 
most particularly correct; just what I could wish; so I will 
believe that she may have good reasons for her conduct 
now,” added Mrs. Ashton in better humor, though still a 
little piqued at the silence maintained by the girls. 

“ Good bye; and all good fortune wait upon you,” said 
Fitz Elwyn, shaking hands with his friend, whose travel- 
ling carriage was waiting at the door. 

“ Thank you, Fitz; if prosperous, expect me back ere 
change of moon,” replied Sir Thomas gaily, as he opened 
the door. “ Out on my memory!” he exclaimed, stepping 
back into the room. “I had nearly forgotten to tell you of 
the engagement made for you to-morrow. Mrs. Ashton 
wishes a tree, or a shrub, or something, cut down some- 
where, or other, in the park — I don’t know where — to give 
her a peep into somebody’s woods — or over somebody’s 
grounds. It is not near the house; and can not inconve- 
nience you in any way she says.” 

“And did she give you no more precise account than 
that?” 

“ Oh! yes, a detail as long as the illuminations after a 
coronation, or the shipping news after a hurricane; but I 
was thinking of the fair Cecil, instead of attending to her 
directions. 1 only know that I promised you should wait 
on her to-morrow, at eleven, in a humor to do her bidding.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


31 


“ I am obliged to you,” replied the viscount. 

“ I see I have done wrong, Fitz, by your looks; but I 
should have promised any thing in the world at that mo- 
ment to get rid of her, so anxious was I for a few minutes 
private conversation with Miss Clare. That girl’s an angel! 
I wish you would be a little more civil to her, for my sake.” 

“ Civil to her, Willerton! — When have I been rude?” in- 
quired the viscount proudly, his cheeks rivalling a scarlet 
Salvia near which he was standing. 

“ I beg your pardon, Fitz; I am a savage, and doing all 
kinds of strange things this morning. Civil is a wrong term 
— you could not be rude to a woman; but I wish you 
would show an inclination to be friends with her, and the 
family too, for my sake, Fitz. I shall not be quite happy 
till you like all at Ashton Grove.” 

“ Then I am to understand — ” began Fitz Elwyn. 

“ Nothing at present; and you must give no hint of that 
nothing. I could not in honor urge my suit, or speak to 
Mr. Ashton, till I know how I stand with this upstart boy; 
but I have few fears, and many hopes; so Fitz, be friendly 
with’ Cecil and the Ashtons, and send fruit, flowers, and 
books as usual, for my sake. Once more adieu. I must 
not begin to talk of her, or I shall never be olT.” 

“ Be friendly with Cecil and the Ashtons for his sake!” 
murmured Fitz Elwyn, catching the sound of the carriage 
wheels, as it drove from the door. “ For his sake!” he re- 
peated, starting up, and unconsciously pacing the room with 
rapid strides. “Am I such a perfect hypocrite? oris he 
such an idiot that he can not see? This is more than I can 
bear; I must fly the country.” 

Notwithstanding Willerton’s parting injunction. Lord Fitz 
Elwyn did not go to Ashton Grove on the morrow; but 
Mrs. Ashton received a polite note in which the viscount re- 
quested her acceptance of some early peaches, and informed 
her that his woodman was in attendance ready to fulfil her 
orders with regard to the overhanging trees. Some beauti- 
ful hot-house flowers accompanied the fruit as usual for Miss 
Clare. 

“ Lord Fitz Elwyn is a perfect gentleman, and exceed- 
ingly obliging,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, in high exulta- 
tion at his flattering note; “ but I can not understand why 


33 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


he never calls,” she added in a less elated tone. “ They 
are beautiful flowers, Cecil; more beautiful even than those 
that the baronet used to bring, which you always shared so 
kindly with Emma. I dare say Sir Thomas begged him to 
send them.” 

“ I dare say he did,” replied Cecil, laying down, with a 
careless air, the flowers which she had just been so much 
admiring. 

“What have you settled with Mr. Lake about Wood- 
side?” asked Mrs. Ashton, entering her husband’s study 
after her view-enlarging, or rather view-enlonging expe- 
dition. 

“ He is to take possession immediately,” replied Mr. 
Ashton without looking up from the book, over which he 
was bending. 

“ Then it was all nonsense what you said about Mr. 
Reynolds; and you might as well have let him have it yester- 
day. I was sure he would make an excellent tenant. 
When is the lease to be drawn out, and signed? And at 
whose expense is the garden wall to be moved?” 

“ We did not settle any thing about that.” 

“ Not settled about that! Then what did you settle?” 

“ That he is to come in next Thursday week.” 

“ Next Thursday week! And the house not properly cleaned 
—•and the furniture not in its place — and the garden not in 
order — and ever so many things wanting in the kitchen! 
How could you think of letting him come in so soon?” 

“ He pressed the point so very much.” 

“ Very likely; but you ought to have considered — only 
that is just what you never do. Who is to look over the 
inventory?” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ How many servants does he intend to keep? And does 
he retain Betty, as he proposed?” 

“ I do not know, my dear.” 

“ Not know? Why you know nothing Mr. Ashton; it 
really is too bad to throw all the trouble upon me. There 
have you been talking to Mr. Lake for two whole hours 
this morning, and yet settled nothing that should have been 
settled. I wonder what you were doing all that time. I 
dare say talking about the South Americans, and the Gua- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


33 


chos — and the gold mines — and the high thistles — and the 
alligators — and Dr. Francia, and Bolivar— and all the rest 
of them, instead of thinking of Woodside. You are not 
fit to let a house, Mr. Ashton.” 

“ I don’t think 1 am, my dear.” 

“ No I don’t think you are indeed. And how ill you 
are looking! your eyes so heavy and dull; I am sure you 
have one of your bad headaches, my dear; I will go and 
get you some of my drops, and then you must lie down on 
the sofa,” said Mrs. Ashton, her affectionate anxiety over- 
coming all her former querulousness. 

The drops were brought and administered — the anxious 
wife shook up the pillows — arranged them as she knew he 
liked them best beneath his aching head — pressed his hand, 
after feeling his pulse — darkened the room — ind then with- 
drew on tiptoe, closing the door with noiselesl^ care. 

■ ♦*![ she would but be quiet, and not ask sh many ques- 
tions, what an incomparable woman she woulcj be!” thought 
Mr* Ashtoq, / 


34 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CIIA?TER tl. 

The Earl and Countess of lAndmoor arrived on the day 
appointed, and with their son appeared at the village church 
on the succeeaing Sunday, as Mrs. Ashton had expected, 
accompanied by a handsome young man, who paid far more 
attention to the ladies in the Ashton Grove pew, than to the 
excellent discourse of Mr. Brockly, whose simple eloquence 
and fervent zeal, softened by Christian love, should have 
touched the coldest and most careless. But the young man 
in question vras not the only one, we grieve to say, whose 
thoughts were turned from heavenly to earthly things. In 
spite of all her efforts, and she really did try, though not as 
resolutely as she should, Mrs. Ashton’s mind was much oc- 
cupied in deciding on the merits of the earl and countess, 
and their handsome visitor, whose eyes were fixed so per- 
tinaciously on Sarah. A swelled face had prevented Emma’s 
attendance; and Cecil’s veil was never raised. The bustle 
caused by the rain prevented Mrs. Ashton from being intro- 
duced to the Lindmoors by Lord Fitz Elwyn after the ser- 
vice, as she had hoped; so she was obliged to defer the 
acquaintance till the morrow. 

“Cecil, my dear, I wish you would put on your things 
and call with us at liindmoor, as Emma must not leave the 
house,” said Mrs. Ashton, entering Miss Clare’s dressing 
room, or den, as she gaily called it, where she was sitting 
alone with the flowers sent three days before. 

“ I go out so little, my dear Mrs. Ashton; — and am only 
a visitor; — surely you had better take Sarah,” replied Cecil 
with a heightened color. 

“As for that I wish you would go out more. I am sure 
moping at home will do you no good; indeed I sometimes 
doubt whether you do not look worn and worse instead of 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


35 


better and better; and then as to being a visitor — I had 
hoped that you considered yourself as one of the family.” 

“So I do, my dear Mrs. Ashton. I should be most un- 
grateful after all your kindness if I did not — that is in all 
things but the matter of' visiting.” 

“ I do not see why there should be any exception, Cecil; 
and certainly not in the present case, knowing as you do 
Lord Fitz Elwyn and Sir Thomas Willerton being his par- 
ticular friend. Since Emma must not stir out, your not 
going might appear a slight to the Lindmoors. I know that 
you anil the viscount are not very good friends, though I 
cannot tell why; but you will not see him, for he is gone 
to call on Lady Barbara; and Sarah is so wild and heedless 
that I do not like to take her on a first visit; she says every 
thing that comes uppermost. So do put on your things, 
my dear; for I should be much hurt at your refusing me 
this request.” 

There was no help for it; so Cecil assented with a sigh. 

The Lindmoors were at home; and Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, 
Cecil, and Robert were ushered into the countess’s morning 
room where she was sitting with the handsome young man, 
who had so stared at Sarah, and whom she introduced as 
Captain Hartley, a nephew of the earl’s, who joined the 
party almost immediately. 

Lord Lindmoor naturally conversed with Mr. Ashton, 
whilst the countess entertained, or rather was entertained 
by, his lady, who after expressing her pleasure at their ar- 
rival and the hope that they should prove good neighbors, 
and see a great deal of each other, offered her services in 
every possible way in garden, house, or dairy; proving her 
desire that all should go right at Lindmoor, by finding out 
that her ladyship’s work, a group of flowers in German 
wool — was wrong; and then calling on Cecil to amend the 
error. 

“ It is so very trifling, my dear Mrs. Ashton, that I am 
sure no one else would remark it, or think of altering it,” 
replied Cecil, crossing the room at her summons, and taking 
a seat by her ladyship, which she did not again quit, as 
Captain Hartley’s complimentary strain of conversation, to 
which she had before been subjected, was by no means 
congenial to her taste. Robert had marked her disgust; 


36 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


but with his usual perverseness had rather encouraged than 
checked the flattery of the young militaire. 

“Thanks for defending my humble endeavors, Miss 
Clare. I am but a poor worker, not being over fond of the 
needle,” observed the countess, involuntarily w'on by the 
sweetness of Cecil’s voice, and her look of patient sufl'er- 
ing; for she had one of her usual tormenting headaches, 
and was paler even than was her wont. 

“ A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind! — I am not 
very fond of the needle myself,” said Cecil, compelling 
herself to answer gaily. 

“ Not like work, my dear Cecil. Well, I thought you 
must be very fond of it; you are always so ready to help 
me and Emma, and put us right.” 

“ I should be most ungrateful — most unworthy of your 
kindness and Emma’s love, if I did not find pleasure in 
pleasing you,” said Cecil, her eyes glistening as she spoke. 

“ We do not love you one bit more than you deserve; 
the house would be quite dull without you; for you are 
never out of temper — always ready to help every one — and 
tolerably lively, notwithstanding your delicate health.” 

“ How could I be otherwise, petted as I am — quite a 
spoiled child,” replied Cecil, changing the conversation by 
speaking of some prints that lay on the table, which in- 
duced some remarks from Lord Lindmoor, who had hith- 
erto been conversing with Mr. Ashton, though not inatten- 
tive to what fell from his other guests. Captain Hartley 
talked with Robert about horses and hunting. — Mrs. Ashton 
made some more offers of advice and receipts to Lady 
Lindmoor; and then, in obedience to a look from her hus- 
band, rose to take leave, expressing a hope that she should 
soon have the pleasure of seeing the whole party at dinner, 
to which the countess only bowed. 

Either Lady Barbara Hetherton had not been at home — 
or had not proved very bewitching — or the report of the 
viscount’s ride to Holdish was incorrect; for the departure 
of the Ashtons was delayed for some moments by the ap- 
pearance of Lord Fitz Elwyn, who, unconscious of their 
presence, entered the room just as they were on. the point 
of quitting it. 

Mrs. Ashton met him with her usual cordiality, thanking 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


37 


him for sending his woodman, the fruit, &c.; and he shook 
hands with Mr. Ashton, and inquired after Cecil’s health 
as he always did; but, though perfectly polite, his manner 
was more than ever deficient in that friendly warmth, which 
is the greatest charm of manner. 

“ Lady Lindmoor is still a very pretty woman; so gentle, 
and lady-like, and yet so dignified; perhaps a leetle too dig- 
nified; but then this is only a first visit,” observed Mrs. Ash- 
ton on her way home. 

No one remarked on her remark; and she continued her 
criticism. 

“ His lordship is a fine man too, though not positively 
handsome: — looks quite the lord, just as an earl should 
look: — courteous, but a leetle stately. I hope he will not 
stand upon his title, and prove too stately. Being next 
neighbors, we should be on very friendly terms.” 

“ If you count on that you will find that you have counted 
without your host,” observed Robert, with caustic dryness. 

“ You have taken a dislike to Lord Filz Elwyn, Robert; 
and so are resolved to find fault with all the family.” 

“You have odd fancies, mother mine,” replied Robert, 
coloring. “ I do not think the viscount perfection, as do 
you, and Miss Clare; but I allow him to be a gentlemanly 
young man.” 

“ I am sure, Robert, I never said that Lord Fitz Elwyn 
was perfection; he is too grave and ceremonious to please 
me, though these are his only faults; and I cannot imagine 
why you should bring such an accusation against Cecil, 
who never speaks to him but when compelled; and dislikes 
him as much as you do.” 

“ Does she? I was not aware of that.” 

“ To be sure she does. What can you have been about 
not to see this — you who profess to see every thing? She 
tolerates him as Sir Thomas Willerlon’s friend — but that 
is all.” • 

“ Is it?” replied Robert in the same dry tone as before; 
but his mother, paying no med to his tone, turned abruptly 
to Cecil, asking her how she liked Captain Hartley. 

“ Not at all,” replied Cecil as abruptly. 

“ Dear me! Why he is a very handsome young man; 

VoL. II.— 4 <9 


38 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


and seemed particularly attentive to you, joining in my 
hope that the families would see a great deal of each other.” 

“ I do not feel flattered by his attentions; and will readily 
dispense with them.” 

“ You are too fastidious, Cecil; but there it is; — when a 
young girl fixes her affections on one particular person, she 
thinks no other worth looking at, or talking to.” 

Robert laughed a sarcastic, mischievous laugh; but if 
Cecil believed that Mrs. Ashton intended the cap for her, 
she did not fit it on her own head by any comment or pro- 
testation; and that lady next attacked her husband. 

“ You and Lord Lindmoor got on uncommonly well.” 

“ The earl was civil and sensible. 

“ Yes, yes; I dare say w'e shall all be very intimate soon; 
— a first visit is always rather formal.” 

“ Better not begin too warm,” remarked Mr. Ashton, 
who, unobserving as he was generally supposed to be, 
coincided in his lady’s opinion that the earl and countess 
were not only dignified and stately; but perhaps a leetle too 
dignified and stately. 

If the Ashtons discussed the Lindmoors — the Llndmoors 
discussed the Ashtons; so the briar could not say to the 
rose — how you scratch! 

“ A prosy old nobody — a fidgety old gossip — a sarcastic 
young puppy — and a proud beauty. Dulness and cutting 
gibes attend their steps!” exclaimed Captain Hartley, as 
soon as their guests were out of hearing. 

“ You seem inclined to return some of their cutting gibes. 
Criticisms founded on such slight acquaintance are rarely 
just or charitable,” observed Lord Lindmoor reprovingly, 
disliking his nephew’s levity, and off hand style of conver- 
sation. 

“ Justice and charity! who expects these in a dashing 
young n^itaire. But since you put me on my defence, 
good unmc, let us discuss each character singly and — 

‘ My basnet to a ’pr^ice cap” 

I shall be able to defend my position even by the confes- 
si:)ns of you and yours. Did not you find Mr. Ashton 
prosy?” • 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


39 


“ No; he is a sensible, well informed man; rather slow, 
but evidently amiable, though wanting in energy.” 

“Slow, and wanting in energy! Umph! uncle mine. 
There is not a sensible jury in all England who would not 
give a verdict in my favor on such evidence. First count 
proved. Now for his lady. Is not Mrs. Ashton a fidgety 
gossip? I ask you, or my aunt — either one of you.” 

“ 1 have no doubt of her being a very friendly, kind- 
hearted woman; indeed that is proved by her conduct to 
Miss Clare,” replied Lady Lindmoor, who always spoke 
well of persons when she could. 

“ I did not accuse her of being cold or ill tempered, most 
gentle aunt; and you cannot deny that she nearly fidgetted 
your placid temper into a fuss; so there is count the second 
proved. And now, Filz Elwyn, is not Mr. Robert Ashton 
a sarcastic puppy?” 

“ 1 know very little of him,” replied the viscount, who 
was standing apart looking out of the window. “ You 
know quite as much of him as you desire, that is plain 
enough. You are foes at heart, let your heads bow as 
lowly as they may. You can say no good of him — so 
there is count the third proved. Now for the young lady 
— always keep a bonne bouche for the last. I appeal to 
you Fitz Elwyn, again. Is not Miss Clare a proud beauty? 
No evasion, as to my last question, but simply yes — or no.” 

“ Then I say, no.” 

“ I saw no symptom of pride about her; but I deny her 
claim to beauty,” observed Lord Lindmoor. “ I was 
amazingly disappointed after all I have heard of her.” 

“ I cannot pretend to say what you expected my most 
sober uncle; but, depend upon it, if that girl were well, 
and in good humor, she would be a splendid creature — fas- 
cinating — irresistible; — but as it is, with her pride, and 
her paleness, I am safe; and shall waste no more time in 
playing the pretty.” 

“ If you rail at her pride because she strove to check 
your fulsome flattery with a gentle yet controlling dignity, 
i must in justice say that her manner towards you was 
admirable; just what I should have wished in a daughter 
of my own. Will you never learn that idle compliments 


40 


THE QUIET HUSBAND* 


and fulsome flattery are displeasing to women worthy of 
regard?” 

“ Thank you for this lecture, my lord; but I have not 
been so unsuccessful among the fair sex as to need your 
lordship’s instructions how to obtain their favor. I know 
what women are.” 

“ Only the least estimable; — the noble and high minded 
shun your acquaintance,” remarked Lady Lindmoor. 

“ Thank you, aunt, for lecture the second; but I can 
win hearts enough without your counsel.” 

“ And break them too by your wild courses,” observed 
the earl severely, his present levity recalling the remem- 
brance of his past vices, which had nearly brought his mo- 
ther to the grave. 

“ Two lectures I have borne; 

A third alas were more than I could bear,” 

SO farewell till better times,” said Captain Hartley; leaving 
the room with a heightened color. 

“ There is a something very interesting about Miss 
Clare,” observed Lady Lindmoor when alone with her 
husband, “ So, gentle, and at times so sad, with one of 
the swee'est voices I ever heard.” 

“Fancy any one in delicate health or low spirits, and 
you take an interest in them at once,” replied her husband, 
taking up a book to show that he had no desire to continue 
the conversation. 

When the Lind moors returned the visit the Ashtons were 
from home, of which Robert asserted their knowledge, but 
he could bring no satisfactory proof of the truth of his as- 
sertion. Mrs. Ashton greatly regretted the circumstance, 
having wished to show the earl and countess all her im- 
provements; but, as if to compensate for the disappoint- 
ment, Captain Hartley, under various pretexts, contrived 
to be nearly as frequent a guest as Sir Thomas Willerton 
had been. First he met Mrs. Ashton and accompanied 
her to see her new plan for pruning wall fruit, which, by 
the way, did not answer in the least: then Charles, who 
was afflicted with the scarlet fever, and thought all officers 
must be perfect, and perfectly happy, wanted to talk to 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


41 


him about getting his commission, and accoutrements; and 
then Sarah, who always liked what Charles liked, and 
wished what Charles wished, fell in love with a new style 
of sketching; and Captain Hartley could do no less in re- 
turn for her mother’s civility than instruct her in the said 
style-^sometimes in the house — sometimes out of the house 
— but always accompanied with Charles; so there could be 
no impropriety in the proceeding. 

Mr. Ashton did not like him; and Robert, Edward, Em- 
ma, and Cecil, did not like him; but with Mrs. Ashton and 
her two youngest children he was a great favorite; and 
they being the most active members of the family generally 
carried all things as they desired, their energy overruling 
the opposition of the more indolent members of the house- 
hold. But Mrs. Ashton, like our first progenitress — 

“ On hospitable thoughts intent,” 

was not contented that Captain Hartley should be the only 
inmate of Lindmoor, who sat at her social board; so, in 
spite of hints and entreaties for delay from her husband 
and eldest son, \he earl and countess with the viscount and 
the captain were invited to a set dinner on the Tuesday 
after the return visit; and, to her infinite delight, the earl 
and countess the viscount and the captain accepted the in- 
vitation. 

Had she seen the manner with which the earl tossed the 
note on the table, as he said — “ I suppose we must go,” 
her pleasure would have been a little damped. A first din- 
ner to the first people in the county must be in a first rate 
style, and the company composed of first rate people; but 
poor Mrs. Ashton had a thousand conlre-temps to contend 
with. 

The baron and his lady — the baronet and his daughter; 
and the cousin of the Irish marquis, whom she had invited 
to meet them from the opposite end of the county, were all 
engaged; and the time being so short she was obliged to 
put up with the Wilders and Mrs. Praed, though she 
did not owe the latter a dinner. Then, horror of horrors, 
the house-keeper fell sick on the preceding day, before she 
had made the jellies and blancmanges, or twisted the 

4 # 


42 


THE QJJIET HUSBAND. 


ornamental sugar work; and a former cook, who was set- 
tled in the village and summoned on the instant, terrified by 
Mrs. Ashton’s awful fuss, and the honor of cooking a first 
dinner for an earl, countess, and viscount, had many mis- 
givings as to the success of her culinary exertions. 

But poor Mrs. Ashton’s greatest trial of temper was the 
want of sympathy in all the members of her family. Ro- 
bert laughed outright at her domestic troubles, making a jest 
of her fears and doubts; and, as she asserted, rejoicing in 
the prospect of the Lindmoors having a bad dinner, and 
■Tstiipid evening, and fancying themselves slighted. Edward 
heard of, but paid no heed to, her difficulties; Mr. Ashton 
and Emma begged her not to fuss herself for that all would 
go right, they had no doubt; and if not, the housekeeper’s 
illness would be sufficient excuse. Charles and Sarah 
laughed louder than Robert, offering, with the assistance of 
Captain Hartley, to undertake the sweets; and even Cecil 
had some difficulty in repressing a smile, when her fidgety 
hostess enumerated all her vexations. But if Cecil was in- 
clined to smile, she was still more inclined to assist, though 
with a heavy heart; for she anticipated nothing but pain from 
the party; and to Mrs. Ashton’s great delight, the spoiled child 
> — the proud heiress — the haughty beauty who had never set 
foot in a kitchen since her childhood, and scarcely knew a 
gridiron from a frying-pan — who had breakfasted off Sevres 
china, and dined off plate, now undertook, with the instruc- 
tions of the housekeeper, to spice sugar — construct orna- 
mental baskets — and dress the table and eperne with flow- 
ers. And what was more she accomplished what she un- 
dertook, for her mind was set on pleasing her warm-heart- 
ed hostess; and the housekeeper, who was as much vexed 
at being ill as her mistress, declared that she could scarcely , 
have done it better herself; and that it was a great pity that 
Miss Clare was a lady born. 

Captain Hartley was not the only constant guest; Mr. 
Fleetwood’s visits became every day more frequent — more 
lengthy; and if he talked to others instead of Cecil the blame 
did not rest with him. So open were his attentions that Mrs. 
Ashton would have put her finger into that pie, as Flinter had 
declared w’as her wont into all that came within her reach, 
and warned Cecil that Sir Thomas Willerton might hear of 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


43 


his devotion, and feel jealous; had not her maternal hopes 
interfered to check her zeal. 

Should Cecil be downright rude to Mr. Fleetwood, Mr. 
Fleetwood would come rarely to the house, for he and Ro- ’ 
bert were not great friends, and thus all chance would be 
lost of his being won by Emma’s sweet disposition and 
enchanting dimples. Now Emma was generally by Cecil’s 
side when in the drawing-room; — many a heart was caught 
in the rebound; and it .would be a pity not to help the best 
match in the county to an amiable wife. Besides Miss 
Clare must be already on her guard, as she frequently kept 
in her dressing-room, when he was present, so Mrs. Ashton 
said nothing to any but encouraged his visits by her cordial 
welcome, and an invitation to make one of the large party 
on Tuesday; 


44 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER HI. 

Clocks may stop — hearts may cease to beat — but still 
time goes on, staying or accelerating its pace for none; no 
prayers advance or delay its speed, though the sad and 
joyous count its strokes by seconds of a different 
length. The important — the awful day arrived; and with 
it another contr e-temps. Mr. Lake having called early to 
arrange some further particulars respecting Woodside, Mr. 
Ashton asked him to meet the Lindmoors, thus making lar- 
ger an already large party, and turning an even number into 
an odd one, which fretted his wife. 

At the appointed time Mrs. Ashton was dressed to re- 
ceive her guests, looking flushed and fussy; — her placid hus- 
band calm and cool — her children mischievous; and Cecil 
leadeneyed and languid, the effect, her hostess feared, of 
spinning sugar and adorning dishes. 

The guests arrived — were duly welcomed; and then ad- 
journed to the dining-room; when it grew more and more 
apparent every minute that those assembled, with few ex- 
ceptions, were in no humor to be pleased or pleasing. The 
earl and countess received most graciously the excuses for 
the dinner, asserting, and with truth, that they were not 
needed; and his lordship submitted with exemplary patience 
to his hostess’s hospitable endeavors to kill him with a sur- 
feit; and her numerous inquiries concerning intended and 
unintended improvements in his farm and gardens; woods 
and lakes; houses and stables; but there was no token of 
open, sincere cordiality. 

Lady Lindmoor would have been very well pleased with 
her quiet, gentlemanly neighbor Mr. Ashton, who exerted 
himself to talk more than usual, had she not seen that her 
lord was out of humor, and as a good wife felt a sympathy 
in his discomfort. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


45 


Mrs. Praed was half vexed because Mrs. Ashton had 
forestalled her and given the first dinner to the earl and 
countess; and because she fancied that Lady Lindmoor was 
made more of than herself. 

Captain Wilder was annoyed at being seated between 
Mrs. Ashton, who bestowed all her attentions on her other 
supporter Lord Lindmoor, and Cecil Clare, who did not 
comprehend his schemes mechanical, and architectural, 
though she made a show of attending to them; whilst Mr. 
Fleetwood, who was Cecil’s other neighbor, was vexed at 
her bestowing so much seeming attention on the Captain; 
and vexed at meeting the earl and his son, though it was 
not unexpected, partly from political motives, and partly 
from his dislike to the viscount. Mrs. Wilder thought 
Charles was rude in talking across the table to Captain 
Hartley; who was grave and more silent than usual, feeling 
that his uncle’s eyes were on him; a change of demeanor 
displeasing and incomprehensible to Sarah. Charles hated 
great formal dinnerparties where he could not make, or find, 
fun, Robert decided that Miss Knight’s conversation was 
‘stale, flat, and unprofitable’ — never considering how little 
pains he took to induce her to make it otherwise; and Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, though very attentive to Emma, next whom he 
sat, and every one else at table, as far as regarded helping 
the dishes within his reach, seemed as little pleased with 
Mr. Fleetwood, as Mr. Fleetwood was with him; and even 
Emma, generally calm and sweet tempered, showed some 
slight symptom of impatience and anxiety, as if the viscount 
had not struck on the topic on which she most desired to 
converse; but worst of all there was Mr. Lake, silent and 
seeing; saying nothing, but observing all things. And who 
does not know that a silent, observing stranger is sufficient 
to mar the success of the best arranged and assorted party? 
Added to this, the thermometer stood very high; and if the 
heat did not absolutely put them out of humor, it afforded a 
legitimate excuse, for who thinks it uncharitable to abuse 
the weather, for expressing their discontent. Edward and 
Helen alone appeared perfectly contented with themselves 
and their neighbors. Everybody was most scrupulously 
polite — too scrupulously so; and after a dead pause every- 
body tried to talk; but trying to talk is the next hard thing 


46 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


to trying to be gay; and it required no prophetic spirit to 
predict that the party would be a heavy affair. 

The hostess alone appeared for a time unconscious of the 
painful fact; but even she at length began to detect symp- 
toms of weariness in her other guests; and to fancy that the 
earl and countess, though very polite, were a leetle — a very 
leetle too stately; and in consequence made an early move; 
but this was an alteration rather than an amendment to most 
assembled. Captain Wilder regained some of his usual 
good humor by getting Edward as a hearer; and Lord Lind- 
moor preferred conversing with Mr. Ashton to listening to 
his lady; but Charles still found Captain Hartley stupid; 
and Robert did all he could in a gentlemanly and natural 
way to widen the distance between Mr. Fleetwood, and 
Lord Fitz Elwyn; whilst Mr. Lake continued as silent and 
observing as before. 

Nor did it fare much better with the ladies. Mrs. 
Wilder and Cecil had headaches; Mrs. Praed kept aloof 
from the countess, maintaining a lofty air, and giving short 
answers to Mrs. Ashton whenever she addressed her; Miss 
Knight took a literary turn; and studied a last year’s annual; 
and Lady Lindmoor apologised for being very stupid, plead- 
ing in excuse the having been tired by a long walk in the 
morning. 

“ I am very sorry to hear that,” began her hostess; “ for 
I know what it is to be tired myself, though I am a capi- 
tal walker, which your ladyship is not I should imagine, 
judging from your slight, delicate figure. Do let me per- 
suade your ladyship to take a little sal volatile, or some of 
my famous drops; and lie on the sofa; or take this arm 
chair, and I will arrange the cushions for you.” 

To escape the torment of being pressed. Lady Lindmoor 
acceded to the latter proposition, inwardly resolving never 
again to own to any ailment in the presence of Mrs. Ash- 
ton, who began a lengthy monologue on the word fatigue, 
and its consequences. 

The chair required a foot stool to be truly comfortable; 
but Mrs. Ashton, who seldom sat sufficiently long in any 
one seat herself to ascertain its perfections and imperfec- 
tions, never thought of this; and the countess preferred si- 
lence on the subject to the risk of a dissertation on foot 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


47 


stools, as long as her last harangue on fatigue; but Cecil, 
who had only exchanged a courtesy with her ladyship on 
her entrance, divining her wishes, crossed the room; and 
placed a stool in what she knew from experience to be the 
most comfortable position, retiring to her seat on the com- 
pletion of her errand without waiting to be thanked. 

“ That is so like dear Cecil; she is so thoughtful — so 
considerate for every body; particularly any one who is in 
pain or suffering of any sort. Would your ladyship believe 
it? She made those pretty baskets of macaroons, and spun 
sugar; and dressed all the dessert with flowers. Emma 
and I helped her a little in the last; but she did it so much 
better than we did, that we were quite ashamed of our 
work.” 

“ Indeed!” exclaimed the countess in considerable sur- 
prise. “ I thought Miss Clare had been brought up in quite 
a different style.” 

“ She never did such a thing before, if that is what your 
ladyship means. No, poor girl, she was brought up like a 
princess, with housekeeper, man cook, and crowds of ser- 
vants; never accustomed to do any tiling for herself; and 
therefore I think so much the more of her making these things, 
because she saw that I was in a fuss about Hanson’s ill- 
ness. She did it all under Hanson’s directions; but still her 
success is quite wonderful, it being her first attempt; and 
the attempt was very kind too; but 1 will say this for Cecil 
Clare, that painful as must have been the change, I never 
heard her lament the loss of fortune, unless she wished to 
aid some one in distress; no nor murmur at any deprivation. 
From the first moment of entering the house she has given 
as little trouble as possible; and is always grateful for the 
smallest attention. It was for the loss of her parents, which 
she has not got over yet, poor thing, that she mourned, not 
for the loss of wealth.” 

“You surprise me, Mrs. Ashton. I had heard — ” 

“ Some nonsense about her being proud and satirical, I 
suppose,” said Mrs. Ashton, closing the sentence, which 
the countess had left unfinished. “ A few young men chose 
to give her that character, because she showed her contempt 
for those who sought her for her riches, by refusing to be 
introduced to them; and I do not blame her for that. I have 


48 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


seen no pride since she has been here, except a very high 
minded sort of pride, the pride of independence, which 
would have induced her to go out as governess rather than 
live, as she falsely imagined, on our bounty. All here love 
her as a child or sister, and will be truly sorry to part with 
her.” 

“ But there is no chance of that — is there!” 

“ We must expect her to marry; she is too much admired 
to remain single long.” 

“ Perhaps she looks less high than in her prosperous 
days.” 

“ I doubt her ever having looked high; it was only some 
disappointed suitors who said so, soured by rejection. She 
would not have married a prince then if she had not liked 
him; and she would not do so now, at least so Emma says, 
who knows more about these things than I do. She never 
chooses to be jested with about lovers; it is the only subject 
on which she is apt to be offended.” 

“ I had conceived a very different idea of her,” said Lady 
Lindmoor, scarcely conscious that she was uttering her 
thoughts aloud. 

“ I tell your ladyship the simple truth. She still shuns 
society, but at home, by our quiet fire-side, she is seen as 
she is, worthy of the best husband England can produce.” 

“ She seems in delicate health.” 

“ Very much so I am sorry to say; and there are times 
when I think her looking worse and worse every day; but 
she will never admit that there is much the matter witli her; 
and if I remark on her heavy eyes, she over exerts herself 
to appear gay directly. She looks paler than usual to-day, 
playing housekeeper to please me has been too much for her. 
I wonder she does not get better too; for she is the most 
obedient patient, and takes nearly every thing that I pre- 
scribe for her.” 

“ I do not wonder if that is the case,” thought the Coun- 
tess, with some difficulty checking a smile. 

“ What is the name of that new pink and white flower, 
mamma? Mrs. Praed wishes to know,” said Sarah running 
in from the lawn at the moment; and away went Mrs. Ash- 
ton to give its name and history. 

“ I wish I were a fairy, dear Cecil, to touch you with my 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


49 


wand; and make you as well, and as happy as you deserve 
to be,” cried Helen Wilder, taking a seat by Miss Clare, 
and looking kindly into her face. 

“ Do not tell me that you have been wishing for anything, 
dear Helen; for I have been rejoicing that two out of the 
nineteen persons here assembled were quite happy,” an- 
swered Cecil, turning the conversation from herself, to the 
manifest confusion of her companion. 

“ Oh! but 1 do wish for many things;” said the blushing 
girl. “ First, after the fairy’s wand, or perhaps before, that 
I might use it properly; I want to understand two or three 
things that I cannot now comprehend. Will you answer 
me if I ask?” 

“ You had better study Pinnock’s Catechisms, or * Why 
and Because.’ I am a most stupid explainer, and therefore 
hate explanations,” replied Cecil coloring in her turn. 

“ You mean to say that I have no right to ask an expla- 
nation; and I can plead no claim but the claim of regard. — 
You shake your head. Well then only one question. May 
I congratulate you?” 

“ On what? On being one day nearer my grave? There 
is nothing else to.congratulate me on/’ said Cecil rising ab- 
ruptly, and leaving Helen Wilder shocked at her words. 

These sudden bursts of uncontrollable anguish struck her 
the more as forming such a contrast to Cecil’s general 
calmness and self-possession. Another had heard that pas- 
sionate outbreak, though Cecil guessed it not; Lady Lind- 
moor, like Helen Wilder, longed for an explanation of much 
which she could not comprehend. 

It was dusk before Cecil re-entered the drawing room, 
and then, in compliance with a request from Mrs. Ashton, 
she devoted herself to the entertainment of Mrs. Praed; her 
gentle pressure of Helen’s hand as she glided past her, and 
whispered — “ Forgive my brusqueness, I was in pain at 
the moment,” were the only comments made by either 
on their late conversation. 

There were yawning and ennui in the drawing-room — 
there were yawning and ennui in the dining-room — and 
when the gentlemen obeyed the summons to tea there was 
but little change in the state of affairs, save that the yawn- 
ing and ennui were performed in one room by the whole 
VoL. IL— 5 


50 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


corps dramatique, instead of being performed in two by 
half the company. The air was cooler certainly, but the 
guests appeared to grow cooler with the atmosphere. Mrs. 
Praed shivered at the draught from a window, which had 
been opened to please the Countess of Lindmoor; and the 
moths and the Harry -long-legs would buzz about the ladies 
and into the candles; but by degrees, thanks to bohea and the 
ennui of being ennuye^ the prospects of the party grew 
rather more promising. 

Lord Lindmoor and Mrs. Praed attacked Mr. Ashton and 
Mr. Lake at whist; Captain Wilder, in restored good hu- 
mor, played the agreeable to the countess; Mr. Fleetwood 
found a seat by Cecil; the rest of the young people gathered 
round the piano; and Mrs. Ashton flirted from one to the 
other questioning and advising. 

“ Have you heard lately from your friend Sir Thomas 
Willerton?” was one of her questions addressed to Lord 
Fitz Elwyn. 

“ I received a letter to-day, wherein he bids me present 
his compliments and best wishes to all at Ashton Grove, 
assuring them that he longs to return, and put their hospi- 
tality again to the test.” 

“ He is very good; I am sure we miss him exceedingly,” 
exclaimed the delighted Mrs. Ashton, looking involuntarily 
at Cecil to mark how she received the message. 

The eyes of the viscount, Mr. Fleetwood, and Mr. Lake, 
were all turned in the same direction; and each saw, or 
fancied he saw, her exchange a joyous glance with Emma, 
and then look on the ground, whilst a beautiful smile played 
for an instant round that exquisitely chiseled mouth. It 
was the only smile of Cecil Clare’s that day; which had 
not been sad and sickly. 

“ Edward I dare say Miss Knight would like a game of 
chess with you, such as she had when last here. You can 
sit in that quiet corner, and no one will disturb you; and, 
Robert, you can take his place and sing with Miss Wilder,” 
whispered Mrs. Ashton to her two sons. Both laughed, 
and one colored too; but Edward did not play chess with 
Miss Knight, nor did Robert sing with Miss Wilder. 

“ Who sings this?” inquired Captain Hartley, taking up 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


51 


a song in manuscript that was lying with some others on 
the piano. 

“ Cecil,” replied Sarah; “I begged her to teach it me the 
other day; but either I was very stupid, or she an inexpert 
instructress, for I could make nothing of it; and she seemed 
so unwilling even to lend it me, though she did not abso- 
lutely refuse, that I have never asked her for a second 
lesson.” 

“It seems pretty,” remarked Captain Hartley, humming 
a few bars. “ Do get her to sing it.” 

“ I will if I can, but she is so pleasantly engaged,” said 
Sarah, glancing at Cecil and Mr. Fleetwood, who were ap- 
parently in earnest conversation. 

“ Never mind that, she can talk to him another time,” 
observed Captain Hartley, who cared for no one’s pleasure 
but his own. 

“ I will try to please you,” said Sarah, blushing deeply 
as she received his animated thanks. 

“ Oh! Cecil, do come and sing us one song,” she ex- 
claimed, speaking sufficiently loud for the whole room to 
hear. 

“ Not to-night, , dear Sarah; my head aches, and I am be- 
sides rather hoarse.” 

“ Oh! but only one song! just this one!” persisted Sarah, 
determined on carrying her point since Captain Hartley de- 
sired it; then, seeing that Cecil remained unmoved by her 
pleading, she tried the effect of pique. “ Come, only one 
song, Cecil. Don’t be fine or ill-natured. It will not keep 
you five minutes; and then you can finish your conversa- 
tion with Mr. Fleetwood.” 

In any other house, or to a stranger, Cecil’s answer would 
have been a cold refusal; but she ever held in grateful re- 
membrance her obligations to the Ashtons, and this remem- 
brance enabled her to bear with patience the occasional im- 
pertinence of Sarah, who, without having a bad disposition, 
was often careless of wounding the feelings of others. The 
hint of her being loth to quit Mr. Fleetwood was cleverly 
thrown in, and had its effect; so Cecil, though shrinking 
from the exertion of singing, and really hoarse and in pain, 
as she had said, immediately rose and approached the piano. 

That is a good-natured creature, Cecil. There, sit 


52 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


down; and here is the song that we all wish to hear,” cried 
Sarah, placing the one in manuscript before her. 

“ Any one but that,” said Cecil putting it away. 

“ Oh! but that is the very one we all wish to hear,” cried 
Sarah pertinaciously. “ Is not it. Captain Hartley? Is not 
it, Robert?” 

“ The very one,” replied the former. 

“ The very one;” replied the latter, who, being in one of 
his unamiable moods spoke as he saw would least please 
Cecil, though till that moment, he had not looked at the 
song. 

“ Excuse me; that I cannot sing,” said Cecil resolutely, 
rising to go. 

“We will not let you move till you have,” cried Sarah 
making a sign to Robert and Captain Hartley to join in clo- 
sing round her. 

“ I will thank you to let me pass;” said Cecil addressing 
Robert in a commanding tone; but Robert was in a savage 
mood and not to be turned. 

“ Excuse me. Miss Chre; we must have that particular 
song; but I will call Fleetwood to attend you. Fleetwood, 
come hither! we want you to persuade Miss Clare to 
sing— 

* Then I’ll not love — not I! — not II* 

and turn over the leaves for her.” 

“ With great pleasure,” replied Mr. Fleetwood, approach- 
ing with alacrity. “ Do not let us plead in vain. You 
know how much I delight in your singing,” he said, under- 
standing no more than that Cecil, it was supposed, would 
yield to his desire. 

“ Pardon me; I have already peremptorily declined,” re- 
plied Cecil a little proudly, provoked and "annoyed at Ro- 
bert’s ungenerous persecution. 

“ Perhaps Miss Clare has some powerful reason for not 
singing this particular song, at this particular time,” obser- 
ved Captain Hanley, glad of an opportunity of revenging 
himself for her cold reception of his former flatteries. 

He was fully avenged. Her cheek turned from white to 
red, then back from red to white; whilst her fingers played 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


53 


unconsciously with the leaves of a music book. Her evi 
dent distress should have saved her from further persecution, 
but Captain Hartley’ was never generous — Robert Ashton 
often otherwise; and now that the evil mood was on him he 
would not be moved to pity by her emotion; whist Helen 
and Emma, who might have aided her, did not clearly un- 
derstand the cause of her reluctance. 

“ Just in time. Lord Fitz Elwyn,” said Robert. “ We 
are pressing Miss Clare to sing; but our persuasions have 
been hitherto in vain; were you to exert your influence I 
have no doubt of success. Do try; we shall all feel infin- 
itely obliged by your interference.” 

“ I do not flatter myself by supposing that I possess any 
influence with Miss Clare; but if joining my voice to the 
general one can induce compliance, I shall be happy to echo 
the universal request,” replied his lordship, after a moment’s 
surprise and embarrassment, for having been engaged in 
conversation with his mother and Mrs. Wilder, like Emma 
and Helen, he only comprehended that Cecil was pressed 
to sing. 

Cecil was not aware of this*,; — she believed him acquaint- 
ed with the nam'e of the song — she accused him in her 
heart of joining in the cabal against her; and was deeply 
hurt at the belief, and the cold, proud politeness of his man- 
ner which seemed to add insult to injury. 

“ If you do not now comply with our wishes we shall 
feel convinced that you have some particular reason for re- 
fusing,” repeated Captain Hartley with a provoking sneer. 

“ 1 have a particular reason. Captain Hartley,” replied 
Cecil, roused by his words, and overcoming her emotion by 
one of those wonderful efforts, which had before excited 
the admiration of Robert and Helen. “ I have a particular 
reason,” she repeated looking steadily at her persecutors, 
her voice gathering strength as she proceeded. “ That 
song was sung in happier days — it was a favorite of my 
father’s; — and now I have no father. The effort will be 
painful; but since all request — require it I might say,” — 
and her eye, rested for a moment on Lord Fitz Elwyn, 
whilst there was a marked emphasis on the word all, “that 
effort shall be made.” 

“No, no, dear Cecil. I did not understand this — no one 
5 * 


54 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


understood it, I am sure,” exclaimed the warm hearted 
Helen, stepping forward to lead her from the piano. “We 
ask it no longer; — you shall not sing — you are not equal to 
It.” 

“ I will be equal to it,” answered Cecil with the same 
resolute air with which she had declared her intention of 
returning to the ball room at the archery meeting. “You 
will turn the leaves,” she added in a softer tone, and with a 
look that repaid Miss Wilder for her kindness. 

“ This is cruel! — it is taxing Cecil above her strength. I 
had no idea of the truth — do not let her attempt it,” whis- 
pered Emma to Helen, as Miss Clare was taking off her 
gloves. 

“ It is too late now; she will do it, let her suffer what she 
may,” whispered Helen in reply. “ Do not appear to take 
any particular notice of her, and talk of other things imme- 
diately on the conclusion of her task.” 

The first few chords were struck with a trembling hand: 
but the voice and fingers gathered power ere the close, and 
the song was executed with admirable spirit, and not a 
note out of tune. The hoarseness was too light to destroy, 
though it somewhat impaired the usual richness of her 
tones; and if there was an earnestness approaching to bit- 
terness, instead of girlish playfulness in the manner of the 
singer, this very earnestness might be considered a greater 
charm by many. 


CECIL’S SONG.» 

“ The rose that opes at morn 
Will fade ere set of sun; 

The insect newly born — 

How soon its race is run! 

The sunshine turns to storm — 
The night succeeds to day — 
And lover’s vows so warm — 
Alas! how false are they! 

Then I’ll not love! not I! — not I! 

Then I’ll not love, not I! 


* Mr. Balfe has adapted this Song to a charming and stirring me- 
lody. It is published by Messrs. Cramer, Addison, and Beale. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


55 


But sport and play 
The livelong day, 

And mock at vow and sigh. 

How late in summer’s glow, 

The joyous earth was drest! 

Now chill her robe of snow — 
Her ice-bound streams at rest, 
No fragrance in the vale — 

No music in the bow’r; 

And love, as false and frail. 
Lives but one fleeting hour. 

Then I’ll not love! not I! — not I! 

Then I’ll not love, not I! 
But sport and play 
The livelong day. 

And mock at vow and sigh. 


The task was completed without a mistake even to the 
last chord, which was struck with a powerful hand; and 
Cecil, leaving her seat ere its echoes had died away, passed 
with a lofty air through the wondering group that surrounded 
the instrument. Captain Hartley and Robert Ashton invo- 
luntarily making way as she approached. 

There was a minute of deep silence. A rubber had con- 
cluded just as the song began; and the proud yet passion- 
ate earnestness of the singer had rivetted the attention of all 
in the room. All had owned the power of the syren, yet 
no one thought of uttering a word of praise: all felt that 
they could not say as they had said to the earlier perfor- 
mances — 

“ A very good song and very well sung,” 

yet few could have explained the cause of this feeling. 

“ It was very good of you to sing with such a headache, - 
my dear Cecil,” remarked Mrs. Ashton at length, fearing 
that she might feel vexed at the silence, yet, for once in 
her life, not knowing what to say. 

“ Your guests would have it so,” replied Cecil coldly. 

“Where is the book of prints that come from Paris, 
mamma?” asked Emma coming to Cecil’s relief, seeing that 
her white lip quivered. 

Away went Mrs. Ashton to look for the Parisian prints. 


5 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


and Cecil, turning to Miss Knight, began conversing with 
her on a recent publication. 

. “ That is a capital song, and you sang it quite con amore^^ 

remarked Robert with an affectation of carelessness. 

“ That last sounds like an Irish bull, considering the 
words of the song,” replied Cecil calmly, without shrink- 
ing from his penetrating look, nerved by indignation to en- 
dure and despise the unfeeling taunt. 

“ For shame, Robert, how can you be so cruel?” said 
Emma to her brother, whilst Helen began talking to Miss 
Clare about other things, taking care to say nothing that 
required an immediate reply. “ You know she has never 
recovered the loss of her parents.” 

“ Nonsense, Emma; there may be Ephesian Daughters, 
as well as Ephesian Matrons,” he replied, endeavoring to 
conceal a consciousness of his cruelty, by a sneer at his 
victim. 

Meanwhile a change was going on at the card table. 
Lord Lindmoorand Mrs. Praed had lost two double rubbers, 
and the loss had not increased the willingness of either to 
be pleased, since both piqued themselves on playing a very 
good game; they were annoyed too at having been so shame- 
fully beaten by quiet Mr. Ashton, who never made any 
claim to skill, and the tactiturn stranger, who, as at dinner, 
had hitherto appeared to remark every thing, and say no- 
thing. The losers, as is the wont of losers, would gladly 
have laid all the blame on fortune, and railed at luck; but 
they could not deny that the stranger had made the most of 
his good cards, not losing a single trick through careless- 
ness or want of skill. 

Captain Wilder took Mr. Lake’s place as before agreed, 
who began a conversation with Lady Lindmoor on indiffe- 
rent topics, that being the first conversation which he had 
commenced throughout the evening; and from her he passed 
on to Mr. Fleetwood, who gave him but brief answers, his 
mind being set on talking with Cecil, who had thwarted his 
wishes by remaining with the group that surrounded the 
piano: she who had been so silent before now taking a deci- 
ded lead in the discourse. Did she dread being silent? Did 
she fear to think whilst so many eyes were on her? 

A request from Mrs. Ashton to look for something on a 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


57 


distant table separated her at length from her companions, 
and Mr. Fleetwood was on the point of joining her, when 
Lord Fitz Elwyn, under the plea of assisting in the search, 
followed her steps; and Mr. Lake — the provoking, no tact 
Mr. Lake — actually took hold of his button to detain him, 
and began a detailed account of the mode of catching quails 
in South America. Mr. Fleetwood wished his tormentor 
transformed into one of those said little quails, that he 
might give practical proof of his having profitted by the 
minute description. 

Cecil heard the steps behind her but did not look up; and 
Lord Fitz Elwyn bending over the table beside her spoke, 
and was answered in so low a tone, that no one else could 
hear. 

“ I beg you to believe. Miss Clare, that I knew not the 
name of the song which you were requested to sing, or 
should never have joined in the request. Your sudden 
mastery over all emotion alone prevented my interfering to 
save you from the painful trial. 

It was the first time that Fitz Elwyn had voluntarily ad- 
dressed her throughout the day, in fact, almost the only 
sentence he had ever addressed to her since their meeting 
in the Isle of Wright not called for by the duties of polite- 
ness; and Cecil was startled. Her hand shook; but she so 
held it that its trembling was not seen, as she ventured one 
hurried glance at the speaker. There was an appearance 
of self-control — a mingling of pride and some warmer feel- 
ing in the expression of his features; and she replied with 
as steady a voice, and as well maintained a self-control as 
his own. 

“ Thank you, my lord, for your consideration; but it is 
better that I should forget the past; and I hope soon to 
accomplish so desirable an object.” 

“ I wish you all possible success,” replied the viscount 
in a tone that grated harshly on her ear. “ Besides Wil- 
lerton’s public message, I have a private one for you 
alone,” he added after a short, but embarrassing silence, 
“ He bids me tell you that all proceeds well; and that he 
hopes to be with you again in a fortnight or three weeks.” 

“ I am delighted!” exclaimed Cecil with a burst of joy, 


58 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


her heavy eyes for one moment beaming with the bright- 
ness of her happier years. 

“ VVillerton is a happy man,” remarked Lord Fitz Elwyn 
with a flushed cheek, and a tone displeasing to his hearer. 

“ He is a generous and high minded one; — a man whose 
word may be relied on,” answered Cecil warmly, with as 
sudden and deep a flushing. 

The approach of Mr. Fleetwood, who had dexterously 
escaped from his detainers, effectually prevented all further 
comment; and Lord Fitz Elwyn moved away with the in- 
tention of joining his mother, but was intercepted by Mr. 
Lake, who if he had appeared resolved on silence before, 
appeared now as fully resolved on conversation. 

The viscount, we are sorry to be compelled to admit it, 
was in no better temper than the rest of the party; and 
most heartily wished that the little ugly old man who de- 
tained him could be suddenly transported to the top of 
Chimborazo, or any other lofty mountain, so that it were 
sufficiently distant; but he had been brought up with a de- 
ference for age, and a regard for the feelings of others; and 
therefore, instead of answering briefly, or passing on as he 
might h:ive done to a younger man, he paused to listen 
with patient attention to the expected prosing; but the ex- 
pected prosing never came. Instead of initiating his hearer 
into the method of catching quails, or making mattcc, Mr. 
Lake discoursed on the different governm,ents in South 
America — their contrasts and harmonies — their merits and 
demerits — and the capabilities of the country; and that in 
such a clear and striking style that Lord Fitz Elwyn in- 
stead of merely listening from politeness became deeply 
interested, gazing with admiration, as well as surprise, at 
the little, insignificant, ugly old man, who joined to consi- 
derable originality extensive information, and an enlight- 
ened, liberal mind capable of understanding and appreciat- 
ing the views of lofty genius. His long residence abroad 
had left him ignorant of the petty details — the pignant 
reports, and amusing scandal of English politics; and he 
was naturallly apt to make South America the subject of his 
discourse; but he was rarely prosy, except of intent, for 
blessed with a quick perception of character, he generally 
selected subjects suited to his listeners; and when meeting 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


59 


with one capable of comprehending his views, those views 
were frankly unveiled; and then it was found that he was 
not provincial — not American — but cosmopolitan. He 
was not quite free from the indolence usually contracted 
by a long residence in a warm climate; but when interested 
his mind had still sufficient energy to throw off this bodily 
lassitude, and he then spoke with a force and abruptness 
which, though unfashionable, and sometimes startling, was 
calculated- to interest his hearers and convince them of his 
sincerity. 

“ With mines whose riches are inexhausted, perhaps in- 
exhaustible — magnificent rivers, flowing through almost 
boundless tracts of pasture land, covered with the most 
luxuriant verdure, tangled and clothed with trees and flow- 
ers of giant size and witching beauty — yet what is South 
America with all her striking loveliness? How stands she 
in the eye of the worldling, the philosopher, and the phi- 
lanthropist?” exclaimed Mr. Lake, excited to eloquence by 
the interest of the subject. 

“She is a jest and a scorn, when she should be a glory; 
— a bye word, instead of a noble model; — a mighty genius, 
wasting its powers upon trifles,” replied Fitz Elwyn, 
catching the spark of enthusiasm from his energetic com- 
panion. “ She has freed herself from the iron yoke of 
Spain — she has freed her slaves; but she is still in the 
bonds of ignorance. She 'has strength which as yet she 
knows not how to use — powers which might make her a 
giant, and yet is she still a dwarf. The short sighted po- 
licy of the Spain that taught her to treat her colonies as 
step children; to permit no native rulers, and to rule as 
tyrants rule, if it enriched for a time the mother country, 
has now recoiled upon herself. Those colonies might still 
have been outlets for her manufactures — sources of countless 
wealth — their childro^i friends and brethren. How stands 
it now? Their children foes — their commerce and their 
mines in strangers’ hands. It might be well if other na- 
tions would take warning by the lesson. A child assured 
of its mother’s love and care is easily guided — a child sus- 
picious of a step mother’s jealousy is ruled with difficulty; 
and if ruled hales.” 

“ This communion of opinion is unexpected and highly 


60 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


pleasing,” observed Mr.- Lake his little eyes glistening with 
excitement and delight, as he listened to the animated 
speaker whose feelings were so near akin to his own. 

“Look at their internal dissensions and ever changing 
governments — if they deserve the name of governments! 
Their yearly revolutions — their almost daily revolts show 
the need and the wisdom of the Spanish yoke,” remarked 
Mr. Fleetwood, who, having been left by Cecil, had over- 
heard the latter part of the conversation between Mr. Lake 
and the viscount, as he was sauntering back to the piano. 

‘ Whom the flax binds not must the iron gyve.* 

“ A poetical excuse for the most outrageous acts of tyran- 
ny, as you apply the line,” replied Fitz Elwyn; “ for me, 
since you will quote poetry in politics, I prefer the old 
Spanish ballad. 

‘ Free were we born,’ ’tis thus they cry, ‘ though to our King we owe 
The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go; 

By God’s behest our aid lie shares, but God did ne’er command. 

That we should leave our children heirs of an enslaved land.’ ” 

“ A poetical excuse for revolution, and all its horrors, as 
you apply the lines,” replied Mr. Fleetwood, not sorry to 
attack the viscount, whom he had never liked. “ I am for 
obeying the powers that be, and submitting to my legiti- 
mate rulers; and the example of the South Americans is not 
likely to convert me from the old fashioned faith of my 
fathers. What have her children gained by throwing off 
the iron yoke of the Spaniards as you term it? War and 
bloodshed — a depopulated country — feeble governments — 
insulted laws — and a commerce not worth naming.” 

“ You forget that she is free; and has the power of being 
great. Such unhappily is the corruption of human nature, 
that evil ever mixes with our good, and freedom in some 
cases can only be won through war. As with the fabled 
phoenix, so with nations; the perfect must arise from the 
ashes of destruction. The man who risks his life to be 
free has a mind above the lot of a slave; — the powers of that 
mind may be wasted — obscured by ignorance, or carried 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


61 


away by prejudice; but the capability of better things is 
there.” 

“ Had the South Americans been worthy of freedom they 
would have known how to govern themselves, and submit 
to their governors. When boys rebel they deserve chas- 
tisement.” 

“ When boys receive chastisement, and no culture; — 
stripes, but no learning; and are thus stinted in their natu- 
ral growth of mind — what right have we to expect from 
such the wisdom and the strength of manhood?” 

“ You mistake me. Lord Fiiz Elwyn; I would only stint 
people and boys to a proper quantity of wholesome mental 
food; repletion or unwholesome viands will do good to nei- 
ther. Let both learn to obey ere they seek to rule.” 

“ Ay, there is the difference between us, Mr. Fleetwood; 
you would prefer obedient slaves, and I intelligent subjects. 
You would leave noble rivers unnavigated, lest some should 
be lost in its rapids.” 

“ I have no taste for rapid revolutions, if that is what 
your lordship means.” 

“ Nor I, Mr. Fleetwood; and therefore by timely reform 
would prevent the chance of a popular outbreak.” 

“Reform! Oh! certainly, all prudent reform; but I have 
too high an esteem for the works of my ancestors, to pull 
them down to appease idle clamor.” 

“ There is a difference between pulling down, and repair- 
inff — between idle clamor, and the voice of sober thinking 
men. The strongest edifice — the noblest monument of the 
wisdom of our fathers will crumble beneath the hand of time, 
if not repaired. Vain to some is the warning murmur of 
the coming tempest; and yet, if unheeded, that storm will 
sweep all before it. Had the Spaniards interested her 
transatlantic children in their government, by making that 
government a blessing, and giving those children a fair share 
in its duties and profits, those children would not have re- 
volted against their tyranny; and if separated by accidental 
circumstances, the mother and the child would still have 
been friends.” . 

“ If they had some hardships to complain of from tlie 
Spaniards in their dependence, they have neither peace nor 
VoL. IL— 6 


62 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


prosperity to boast of in their independence: — internal con- 
tests before — slaughter and ruin behind.” 

“ Give them time, Mr. Fleetwood; give them time,” in- 
terposed Mr. Lake, who liked to speculate on the future 
glory of the country in which he had so long resided.. — 
“ The colonists of a free people are in a measure trained 
to self government; to the colonists of a despotism this self 
government is new, and naturally for a time its duties sit 
awkwardly upon them; all machines work better for a little 
use. Their own mighty Andes did not rise to its present 
grandeur in one day, though formed by the infallible laws 
of one Almighty Being; and the children of her plains may 
likewise hereafter tower into grandeur, and eclipse the worn 
out nations of the olden world. 

“ A fancy is not a fact, Mr. Lake; nor a finely turned 
sentence an argument. I leave to others the theories of wild 
geologists and wilder politicians, not being one of the move- 
ment party. 

“ You are one of the stand stills then,” remarked Fitz 
Elwyn. 

“ No, not exactly that,” replied Mr. Fleetwood, who be- 
gan to be conscious of making himself out a more ultra 
tory than he really was, from a spirit of opposition to the 
viscount. “ Not exactly that; but 1 would proceed at a 
sober trot, which I consider to be an Englishman’s proper 
pace; whereas you would proceed at a reckless gallop.” 

“ Only in the field, not in the legislature, Mr. Fleetwood. 
I am certainly not for remaining a fixture, whilst the cur- 
rent of mind is speeding on, my only use to mark the speed 
of that current; nor would I advance as a solitary wave the 
galloping avant courier of wishes, that may never arise; — 
but I would that the most enlightened should just head the 
stream of public opinion, guiding its course — ruling its 
power to good.” 

“1 am rather incredulous as to this mighty march of mind, 
or rather its sudden jump, as asserted by some; and still 
more incredulous as to its jumping to good; like the Amer- 
ican leaper, it may be leaping into a gulf to its own de- 
struction. I have a respect and veneration for the past — 
its sober habits — its quiet obedience.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


63 


The sober habits and quiet obedience of the Norman 
barons for instance/’ observed Filz Elwyn with a smile. 

“ Not quite as far back as that, though you ought to vene- 
rate those said Norman barons, as the winners of Magna 
Charta; and in truth there was a something picturesque in 
the feudal grandeur of those barons bold, with their troops 
of vassals, and gallant knights, that puts to shame the cold, 
bare, unpoetical utility of the present, day, when trade out- 
vies nobility.” 

“ I admit the picturesqueness of a train of barons bold, 
and allow that those were the days for the painter, and per- 
haps the poet; but barbaric pomp and gold are only pleas- 
ing to the eye, there needs the touch and might of mind to 
stir the soul; — such had your favorite barons when they 
wrung a people’s rights from the feeble yet despotic John. 
Commerce opened a way for knowledge and freedom in 
the earlier, as in the later times; and a Cosmo de Medici 
was a greater blessing to his country than a Malatesta. 
Not that I have any intention of turning merchant, resign- 
ing my title, or refusing to stand by my order,” added Fitz 
Elwyn with a smile. 

“ No; only you consider the ragged array of a radical 
meeting more picturesque than tilt and tournament.” 

“ More safe, and more honest than a baron’s band on a 
foray; and a radical hiss, though not as melodious, is less 
alarming than a freebooter’s horn. But I am no comate of 
those extreme partisans, who leap at unwise conclusions, be- 
cause they have not been taught better; it being one of the 
many singular anomalies, in this very singular country, that 
while the mass of the people are called on to exercise po- 
litical rights, they are discouraged or forbidden to acquire a 
knowledge of their political duties. I hope this discourage- 
ment arises from no covert design to keep voters dependent 
on masters and landlords. A few years back the cry was— 
Do not teach the people to read and write, they make bet- 
ter servants without it! — Circumstances have compelled edu- 
cation; and now the cry is a little changed. ‘ Let them 
read; but do not let them read newspapers or politics. 
How can they judge of such things? and what have they 
to do with speeches in Parliament?’ — If they had not to 


64 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


vote for the makers of those speeches the question would 
have a different bearing.” 

“ Well, the freeholders of this county will soon he called 
on to vole for a new member in the room of poor Mr. Pen- 
nant. The writ is to be issued immediately; and one need 
not be a conjuror to say who will be elected,” observed 
Mrs. Ashton who had been fidgeting about the speakers for 
the last five minutes, looking knowingly at Mr. Fleetwood, 
who colored deeply, and by glancing at the Earl of Lind- 
moor and his son embarrassed them as much as himself. 

“ The blues, conscious that they can have no chance 
against such a candidate, do not purpose any opposition I 
understand,” added that lady, in a congratulatory tone. 

Mr. Fleetwood was silent from not knowing what to say 
— Lord Lindmoor and his son were the same, because 
they did not consider themselves called on to speak; and 
there was an awful pause broken by Captain Wilder, who, 
just released by tlie conclusion of a rubber, and seeing the 
confusion caused by his hostess, determined to lead the con- 
versation as he had lately led the game to the earl’s discom- 
fort, leaving his opponents no opportunity of putting in card 
or word. 

“ Ah! Mrs. Ashton; now you are saying that just to 
try me, knowing that I am one of the whigs, or blues as 
you call them; but you shall not obtain one iota of intelli- 
gence from me, depend upon it. Only this I will say; — if 
I should stand for the county, (you need not laugh, far 
stranger things might come to pass) I shall insist on open- 
ing the election ball with you.” 

“ With great pleasure, Captain Wilder. But is there re- 
ally to be — ?” 

“ And the second quadrille with you. Miss Clare,” he 
continued, interrupting his hostess. 

Cecily laughed, as she acknowledged the honor. 

“ I should make a capital member! What bridges and 
rail roads we should have! By the bye, Mrs. Ashton, I want 
to show you a plan of the new machine that I was speak- 
ing to you about the other day.” 

The current of Mrs. Ashton’s ideas was turned, and the 
Captain carried her off in triumph, to the relief of more 
than one of her guests. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


65 


The earl’s carriage was announced almost immediately 
after; and Lord Lindmoor, who had lost two more rubbers, 
and was dreadfully ennuye^ hurried his lady and the rest 
of the party away, exclaiming as soon as they drove off, 
“ Thank goodness it is over.” 

Mr. Lake instead of again seizing on Mr. Fleetwood, and 
instructing him in the art of defence against the musqui- 
toes, as he had instructed him in the art of attack against 
the quails, attached himself to Cecil, who was lured into a 
temporary forgetfulness of fatigue, and all the trials of the 
day, by the charm of his conversation; but Robert’s ap- 
proach disturbing their tete-a-tete^ he turned his attention 
to the intruder, and played a pitched game with him at caus- 
tic remarks, till the adieus of Mr. Fleetwood and the 
Wilders warned him that it was time to depart. 

“ That is a very odd man,” remarked Mrs. Ashton in no 
laudatory tone. “ I took him at first for a good man of 
business; but he seems little short of a simpleton in such 
things. He has given up all idea of removing the garden 
wall, or enlarging the dining-room, though he agreed with 
me before that these would be such great improvements; 
and only wants to get in at once, without reading over the 
inventories, signing the lease, or doing any thing else that 
should be done, which looks rather suspicious. Perhaps he 
only wishes to get into the house and then carry off the 
furniture. I have heard of such things; you had better 
keep your eye upon him, Mr. Ashton.” 

“ I am not at all afraid, my dear,” replied her husband ,who 
looked as much wearied as his guests. 

“ No, Mr. Ashton; you are never afraid of any thing, 
and you know how that Gilmore cheated you, and would 
have cheated you more, if I had not kept a sharp look out. 
I hope you have not consented to his taking possession this 
week.” 

“ Yes I have, my dear.” 

“ La! Mr. Ashton; that is just like you. You would 
give the teeth out of your head if any one asked you for 
them.” 

“ I will not give away yours, my dear; so you need not 
be alarmed.” 

“ He will prove a swindler you]^may depend upon it,” 
6 * 


66 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


continued Mrs. Ashton, half provoked and half amused at 
her husband’s answer. 

“ Nonsense, my dear; I will be surety for his honor.” 

“ Ah! Mr. Ashton, that is just like you — you would an- 
swer for any body’s honor; 1 am sure you do not believe 
that there is a rogue in the w'orld. But it is very odd, your 
sudden fancy for this man, when you had such a dislike to 
him at first; now I think he does not improve on acquaint- 
ance.” 

“ I hope he will, or I shall set fire to Woodside to smoke 
him out; so look to your insurance,” observed Robert 
sharply. 

“ How do you like him? I saw you talking together,” 
inquired Mr. Ashton of Cecil, just as she was leaving the 
room. 

“ Very much; I found him interesting and original.”, 

“ It is very odd. I overheard Lord Fitz Elwyn say 
something of the same sort to his father; but the earl an- 
swered contemptuously ‘ chacun d son gout.'* There is 
something very strange about him; but I will find it out.” 

“ Once upon ^ time, a giant fished in the sea, and brought 
up — a winkle!” observed Edward archly. 

“ The giant must have been a simpleton, who did not 
know how to bail his hook; or he would have fished up 
something far more valuable,” rejoined his mother. “ I 
wonder why Mr. Fleetwood looked so red when I spoke of 
his being elected. I will find out that too.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


67 


CHAPTER IV. 

Two days sufficed to explain why Mr. Fleetwood looked 
so red on his probable election being alluded to. 

As Mrs. Ashton was going forth on one of her observing, 
advising, reproving, and charitable expeditions, she encoun- 
tered Lord Lindmoor and his son not more than ten steps 
from her own door, who announced their intention of calling 
on Mr. Ashton. 

Could it be possible! The earl did not owe them a visit. 
He had been stately a leetle too stately at the dinner party, 
though she had said nothing about it to any one, and the 
viscount had never shown any inclination for supernumerary 
calls, yet here were the earl and the viscount coming to see 
Mr. Ashton, the former more gracious than she had yet 
seen him, the latter as polite, and perhaps a leelle more cor- 
dial than was. his wont. Then they really were to be not 
only near neighbors, but good neighbors. Kind, active 
Mrs. Ashton was in raptures. She asked most particularly 
aft^r the countess, the captain, and a lame carriage horse; 
expressed over and over again her pleasure at seeing her 
visitors, and finally, ushering them into the drawing-room, 
went herself tosummon her husband and son, leaving Cecil, 
who was sitting there alone, to entertain her tilled guests, 
which task she performed after the first flutter of surprise 
had subsided, with a quiet self-possession that commanded 
the admiration of both, though Lord Fitz Elwyn took little 
or no share in the conversation. 

“ Good morning, my lord, I am very glad to see you,” 
said Mr. Ashton on entering with his wife, and two eldest 
sons; and he really was pleased for he liked both the earl 
and the viscount; but had he anticipated the purpose of 
their visit he might have wished that visit deferred. “ It is 
very good of you to come and enliven me, on such a dull 


68 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


looking day; I do not know how it is, but I feel more than 
most people the effects of gloom and sunshine.” 

“ We shall be delighted if our presence can make you for» 
get this disagreeable fog; but I am afraid we deserve no 
gratitude for so doing,” replied Lord Lindmoor with a frank 
and winning graciousness, yet slightly heightened color. — 
“ To tell the truth, Mr. Ashton, we come to beg a favor; 
and will receive no praises not our due.” 

“You deserve my gratitude for such a friendly act as 
allowing me an opportunity of obliging you, my lord; and, 
if in my power, believe the favor granted. I merit no thanks 
for this, having a natural antipathy to saying — no.” 

“ This is friendly indeed, Mr. Ashton; far more so than 
we dared to expect.” 

“ I hope not, my lord; I am a quiet, silent man, but no 
churl. What can I do for you?” inquired Mr. Ashton, 
whilst his wife sat in a great fidget, wondering whether the 
earl would ask for the use of the carriage and horses — a 
calf from her famous cow — or some cuttings of her as fa- 
mous pear tree; — but it was none of these. 

“ Give us what I hope you will have no objections to 
give, Mr. Ashton — your support. A large body of gentle- 
men and freeholders have requested my son to stand for the 
county; and we are come in consequence to solicit the votes 
of yourself and Mr. Robert Ashton, with permission to can- 
vass your tenants. As our nearest neighbor we have paid 
you the compliment of a first application.” 

“ Lord Filz Elwyn going to stand for the county!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Ashton in atone which disturbed the viscount’s 
gravity. 

Here then was the explanation of Mr. Fleetwood’s odd 
look, and the nearly as odd looks of the earl and his son on 
her allusion to the election. It was very provoking that 
only one candidate could be elected, for she would have 
liked both to come .in. Mr. Fleetwood was the more pro- 
per person, having a sort of hereditary claim to the office 
of member; his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, 
having been members before him; but tlien Fitz Elwyn was 
a lord — their nearest neighbor, and a friend of Sir Thomas 
Willerton’s, who .was to marry Cecil. How convenient 
for franks! — Yes; but then Mr. Fleetwood, she had settled. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


69 


was to take Emma, since Cecil was engaged. Poor Mrs. 
Ashton! It was a most distressing dilemma: and for once 
her husband seemed as much perplexed and put out of his 
way as herself, and like her too, he wished that both the 
young men could have been members. 

A lory by birth, for his father and his father’s father had 
been so before him, his vote would have belonged of right 
to Mr. Fleetwood merely on that account, had it not also 
been claimed by that gentleman’s high character for sense 
and honor; but if Mr. Ashton’s natural indolence and dis- 
inclination to all change kept him in the political faith of his 
ancestors, that very inelolence prevented his putting his 
faith into active practice; in short, he was a quiet man, the 
very antipodes of an eager politician — contented to let the 
world wag on its own way, provided that way did not com- 
pel him to any extra exertion. As a tory — a person well 
fitted for a county member; and the son of an old friend 
he would naturally have given his vote to Mr. Fleetwood; 
but then, somehow or other, it was very odd, but just like 
him his wife would have said, he had taken a great fancy to 
Lord Fitz Elwyn — entertained a high opinion of his talents 
and principles; and had a great objection to saying — no, as 
heiiad told the earl. 

It was very provoking. He wished that he had no vote; 
but the wish was vain; and the earl and his son were wait- 
ing for his answer, whilst these thoughts were passing 
through his mind. And what could he say? Could all 
these feelings have been fairly explained to the young can- 
didate, both he and his father must have felt more flattered 
by his regret, than hurt at his refusal, his regret being per- 
sonal, his refusal merely political; but Mr. Ashton was a 
man of few words, and hated explanation; he had already 
said far more than he was. in the habit of saying to his visi- 
tors, and his powers of speech were nearly exhausted; be- 
sides he was embarrassed, and his speech was naturally on 
such occasions less clear, and more concise. 

“ I am very sorry, my lord; I have a high esteem for 
Lord Fitz Elwyn — and under other circumstances — but Mr. 
Fleetwood is the son of an old friend. I had no idea of 
your lordship’s standing — in short — ” 

“ You are naturally anxious for the success of your old 


70 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


friend, and pledged to give him your vote,” said Lord Fitz 
Elwyn, closing the sentence. 

“Yes, that is it precisely,” stammered poor Mr. Ash- 
ton, still looking red and perplexed, though somewhat re- 
lieved by the viscount’s ready comprehension and courteous 
manner. 

“ I will not weary you by entering into a detail of my 
principles, of which I believe you already understand suffi- 
cient to know that we differ but little, though you are called 
a tory, and I a whig; nor shall I of course attempt to alter 
your resolution; but content myself with regretting that I 
can not have the honor of your support,” observed Lord 
Fitz Elwyn with a manner as courteous as before, wishing 
to prevent all reply from his father, who was growing more 
stately every moment. “ You will not I trust object to, 
or think me impertinent in visiting your tenants; we agreed 
in condemning coercion the other day. I will spare your 
son the trouble of saying — no, since he votes with his 
father I presume,” he added with a slight inclination of the 
head towards Robert. 

“ Pray visit whom you will on my estates, my lord; I 
never attempt to coerce my tenants or children on these 
subjects, leaving them the freedom which I claim for my- 
self; but Robert who has always been a whig, will I doubt 
not have pleasure in giving you his vote,” replied M^r. Ash- 
ton much relieved. 

“ Excuse me, my lord; I must vote for my friend Fleet- 
wood,” said Robert quickly. 

“ Bless me, Robert! why you were never a tory before; 
some people even called you a radical,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Ashton, who had a most inconvenient habit of remember- 
ing the very things which her friends most wished forgotten, 
and thought by thus splitting the family votes to please both 
candidates. 

“I have grown older, and seen my folly,” replied her 
son with a face as red as the dining room curtains. 

“ May your wisdom ever increase with your years!” ob- 
served Lord Lindmoor with a kindling cheek and a touch of 
irony, for Robert’s manner had been most uncourteous. 

“ I have no vote. Lord Fitz Elwyn, I wish I had; but I 
have good wishes, health, and strength, and Captain Wilder 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


71 


has promised to make me one of his aides-de-camp, if you 
will accept my services,” said the usually quiet Edward, 
coming forward with friendly warmth as the Earl of Lind- 
moor rose to take his leave, offended at Robert’s brusquerie. 

“ With many thanks,” replied the viscount, taking his 
hand as frankly as it was offered. 

“ Pray do not go yet, my lord; you are not rested. Let 
me offer you some refreshment,” cried Mrs. Ashton, who 
had overcome her surprise at Robert’s change of politics, 
and recovered the use of her tongue. “ I am sure I am very 
sorry about this nasty election, I had no idea that the vis- 
count was going to stand, but I hope this will make no dif- 
ference in your lordship’s feelings towards the family.” 

“ Not in the least,” replied the earl a little loftily, with- 
out resuming his seat. 

“ Well that is very kind of your lordship to say so; I am 
sure I should be very sorry if it did; it would be so unplea- 
sant not to be good friends with one’s next neighbors; but 
you see Mr. Fleetwood is the son of such a very old friend; 
and Mr. Ashton has always voted with the purples. It is 
very unlucky; I wish there had been no election, or that 
Mr. Ashton had two votes.” 

“ You are very good,” observed the earl only anxious to 
repress her volubility. 

“ But do pray take some refreshment, my lord; I will 
ring the bell immediately.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Ashton, but you really must excuse 
us; we have no time for refreshments — not a minute to 
spare, good morning — good morning, ladies;” said the earl 
with a stately courtesy, bowing himself out of the room and 
away from Mrs. Ashton’s regrets. 

“ I am exceedingly sorry at not being able to give you my 
vote,” said Mr. Ashton as he offered his hand to Lord Fitz 
Elwyn. 

“ I believe you, sir, and regret the result of this visit far 
more than yourself,” replied the viscount as he shook hands 
with his host. “ Good morning. Miss Clare.” 

Cecil’s answering good morning was half inaudible; and 
she did not look up. 

“ I shall meet you at Captain Wilder’s in half an hour,” 


72 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


said Edward as Lord Filz Elwyn, after exchanging a stiff 
bow with Robert, was quitting the room. 

“ This is an ominous beginning; I fear we shall make 
but bad canvassers,” remarked Lord Lindmoor to his son 
as they walked their horses up a hill. 

It was the first allusion to their visit at Ashton Grove. 

“ I am sorry, sir, that you went at ray persuasion; but I 
esteem Mr. Ashton, and thought our application a mark of 
respect; Willerton begged me to be civil to the family,” 
replied his son, bending down to adjust his stirrups. 

“ There are some there who deserve little civility at your 
hands; but let that pass. She must have wonderful com- 
mand over herself, or she could never meet you as she does 
with such perfect self-possession, assuming an air of dignity 
as if she were the injured person. How'ever I am glad that 
it is as it is — and you should be the same.” 

The sudden appearance of Captain Hartley at an abrupt 
turn in the road would have checked a reply had Lord Fitz 
Elwyn intended one. 

“ How do you get on in your canvassing?” was his 
question as he came within hearing. “ How many votes 
did you get at Ashton Grove?” 

“ None. Mr. Ashton votes for his friend’s son — Mr. 
Robert Ashton for his own friend, Mr. Fleetwood,” replied 
Lord Lindmoor in a tone which at once revealed his feelings 
to his reckless nephew. 

Very good thall Mr. Ashton’s grandfather voted for 
Mr. Fleetwood’s grandfather, so Mr. AslUon must do the 
like by the grandson. Mr. Robert Ashton has an especial 
antipathy towards Lord Fitz Elwyn, so votes for Mr. Fleet- 
wood, for whom he has only a minor hatred. I suppose 
you strutted into the liouse, and said — Please give me your 
votes; and when those said gentlemen answered ‘ no,’ you 
strutted out again in proper lordly style. Ah, cousin mindl 

you will never be member for the independent county of 

at that rate.” 

“ Why should Mr. Robert Ashton have an especial anti- 
pathy to Fiiz#Elwyn?” inquired the earl. 

“ I am not called on to account for the antipathies of Mr» 
Robert Ashton: I should as soon undertake to account for 
the caprices of Lady Barbara Hetherton, and all her puppy 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


73 


dogs. Perhaps he thinks Fitz Elwyu has a fancy for the 
same hone whicli he desires for himself. But you and my 
cousin are far too stately for canvassers. Give me a list of 
all the voters, who have pretty wives and daughters, and I 
will insure you the votes of their husbands and fathers.” 

“ 'I’hank you; I prefer more sober canvassers; you have 
already turned the heads of half the girls in the village, and 
I have heard some things hinted which it would deeply pain 
my sister to hear. I hope you are not playing the fool with 
Miss Sarah Ashton, with whom I understand you are con' 
stantly walking,” replied Lord Lindmoor gravely, displeased 
at his nephew’s levity. 

“ If girls will be silly, why should I be blamed for it? 
Since you refuse my offer of canvassing, I wish you good 
morning, for I shall not make such an offer twice.” 

“ I trust not to me,” replied the earl with increasing 
severity. 

“You may depend on that, ‘most potent, grave and re- 
verend signor;’ and so once more good morning;” and put- 
ting spurs to his horse, the young man dashed down the 
hill, muttering as he went. — “ Prosy, pragmatical fellow! I 
shall walk with Miss Sarah Ashton as much as I please, for 
she is a monstrous fine girl; and not too sensible to be fooled 
with.” 

“ Hip! hip! hip! hurrah! Fleetwood for ever!” cried Ro- 
bert Ashton, standing with an air of insolent triumph before 
Cecil, who was bending over her drawing. 

Her only reply was a look which made the blood rush 
up even to the roots of his hair. 

“ Take care how you provoke me,” he muttered between 
his teeth as he left the room. 

“ Is there any chance of his succeeding?” questioned 
Cecil, as Edward entered to ask if she had any message to 
Helen Wilder. 

“ A very good chance; it will be a hard run, at any rate. 
But which ,do you mean though. Lord Fitz Elwyn or 
Fleetwood?” 

“ Lord Fitz Elwyn,” replied Cecil rubbing a paint with 
great activity. 

“ Then we mean the same: I will do my best for him. 
VoL. H.— 7 


74 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


By the bye, I saw you with some ribbon exactly the right 
color the other day — could not you spare me a piece for 
my button hole?” 

“ Yes,” cried Cecilt, running off to bring it. 

“ Thank you; now I look very smart. I shall tell Fitz 
Elwyn who placed his color in my coat, and who wishes 
him all possible and impossible success.” 

“ No, no;” cried Cecil crimsoning to the very tips of her 
fingers. 

“ Why not? You do wish him success — don’t you?” 

“ Yes; you know my father was a whig; but — but ladies 
have notiling to do with politics; and their names should 
no the mentioned in connection with such subjects; so I 
must particularly beg you not to say who gave you the 
ribbon.” 

“ Beg me particularly not to say who gave the ribbon! 
Urn phi And yet Fitz Elwyn is Willerton’s most intimate 
friend. There is something in this beyond my comprehen- 
sion; however I always do what you wish, so trust to my 
silence, Cecil. But you women are strange creatures—* 
there is no understanding you.” 

“ Ask Helen Wilder to explain the caprices of her sex.” 

“ I will send her to pay off your impertinence,” an- 
swered Edward coloring in his turn. 

'i'his was a day of high honor to Ashton Grove. Two 
would-be county members coming to solicit the votes of the 
gentlemen; and the good wishes of the ladies! 

“ I have not a minute to spare; but could not deny my- 
self the pleasure of hearing you wish me ‘ good speed,’ ” 
exclaimed Mr. Fleetwood, entering the drawing-room about 
two hours after the visit of his rival; and to his great de- 
light finding Cecil alone. “ I have just left Mr. and Mrs. 
Ashton in the park, and am waiting for Robert, who has 
offered his services in canvassing. I have little doubt of 
triumphing over Fitz Elwyn, but am annoyed that the 
bustle of a contested election must of necessity keep me so 
much away from Ashton Grove, where my heart ever is, 
let my body be where it may.” 

Cecil said nothing in reply to this gallantry, but con- 
tinued sketching some flowers that stood before her in a 
glass, forming a group on a screen for Mrs. Ashton. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


•75 


“ You are pale this morning', Miss Clare; very pale; — 
I hope — I trust you are not ill.” 

“ Oh! no thank you; quite well,” replied Cecil, looking 
any thing but pale as she turned from his earnest gaze. 

“ You are silent as to my hopes of becoming your repre- 
sentative. Will you not wish me success? Your wishes 
would insure it.” 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Fleetwmod; but my father was a whig, 
and I find it is the fashion in the county of for poli- 

tics to be hereditary,” answered Cecil coldly. 

“ You do not mean to say. Miss Clare, that you would 
rather my rival should succeed? Do not say that! If we 
have not absolutely conversed on politics, we have touched 
on topics verging on them; and I flatter myself that you 
approve of my principle. Do not hold so resolutely to 
your father’s opinions; the aspect of affairs is ever changing, 
and I might be able to adduce reasons which — ” 

“Adduce reasons to a lady in politics, Fleetwood! Was 
ever such a work of supererogation?” exclaimed Robert 
Ashton, appearing at the moment, booted and spurred, 
ready for a canvassing ride. “ Don’t you know that wo- 
men’s politics are always founded on their affections?” 

“ Then must I be still more anxious to win you over to 
my opinions,” whispered Mr. Fleetwood, as Robert was 
compelled to answer a message delivered just at that very 
instant. 

“ I remain true to my father’s political faith,” replied 
Miss Clare splashing up all her colors together into most 
admired confusion. 

Her words gave no hope; but her embarrassment did, to a 
lover resolved to believe as he wished. 

“ I will not think it; — you must — you shall rejoice in 
my success; and as a token, an ensign of victory, you will 
give me this flower of my own color, charmed by your 
touch. Believe that it shall be treasured near my heart till 
I come to claim your congratulations,” exclaimed Mr. 
Fleetwood, taking a spray of the Delphinium Grandiflo- 
rum from the vase before her, whose bright purple was the 
county badge of his party. 

Cecil half put out her hand to stay him; — she would 
have spoken, but Robert was before her with his keen, 


76 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


searching, threatening look; and the hand sank by her side, 
and the words died on her lips, whilst Fleetwood, gather- 
ing hope and boldness from her silence and growing confu- 
sion, placed the flower in his bosom. 

“Mount and away, Fleetwood! This is no time for dal- 
lying with fair ladies, and suing to wear their colors,” cried 
Robert impatiently, hurrying away his friend before he 
could say more. 

Friend! Was he his friend? 

As the door closed behind them the brush fell from Cecil’s 
hand, and she sank back half fainting in her chair. 

It was strange! both parties now wore her colors, by her 
will, or against her will; — yet both could not win the prize. 
Which had her hopes? She covered her face with her 
hands to conceal her burning blushes, as she thought of 
Robert Ashton’s look — his words; — “a woman’s politics 
are founded on her affections?’ 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


77 


CHAPTER V. 

As Lord Lindmoor was sitting with his son in the coun- 
tess’s morning-room about nine o’clock in the evening of 
the second day after the canvassing visit to the Ashtons, 
conversing on the coming election, a servant entered to say 
that Mr. Lake was at the door, and requested the pleasure 
of a few minutes’ conversation with his lordship. 

“ Give my compliments; and say that I am particularly 
engaged,” replied the earl impatiently with a wordless ex- 
pression of annoyance. 

“ Had not I better see him, sir? There must be some rea- 
son for a visit at this hour,” interposed Fitz Elwyn with 
whom, as we have before said, Mr. Lake was a favorite. 

“ But I want you to run over this list of freeholders with 
me; and there are some letters to write, and arrangements 
to make for to-morrow,” observed his father still more im- 
patiently. Besides, I am tired to death. By the bye Mr. 
Lake cannot have a vote,” he added with sudden energy. 

“ No sir, impossible. But do let me go?” pleaded the 
viscount. 

No, no, Fitz Elwyn; better have him here, you are far 
loo courteous and pleasing a host to be blessed with short 
visits; and we really have a great deal to do. Beg Mr. 
Lake to walk in,” he added speaking aloud to the servant. 

“ I begin to feel myself quite a nonentity not having a 
vote,” remarked Lady Lindmoor with a smile. 

“ xMy dear mother!” said her son reproachfully taking her 
hand. 

“ Do you coax others as prettily as you do me, Freder- 
ick?” questioned the fond motlier looking up in his face 
with swimming eyes. 

“ He plays with all the children, and so wins the mothers, 
who are as doting as my Mary though not as reasonable in 

7 * 


78 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


their doting,’* replied the earl, his voice losing its tone of ir- 
ritation as he addressed his wife; but regaining it as he ob- 
served; — “ This tiresome fellow! What can he want? I 
detest the man with his sinister look.” 

There was time for no more, the man with the sinister 
look was already at the door; and the earl, assuming a dou- 
ble portion of the dignity, which had been somewhat ruffled 
by this untimely visit, advanced to greet him. 

“ I hope you are well, Mr. Lake. Pray be seated. We 
have been out canvassing all day, and are most heartily tired, 
and longing for bed; but if there is any thing that we can 
do for you — ” the earl paused. 

“ You will do it directly, that you may get quit of me,” 
said Mr. Lake concluding the sentence as he look the 
offered seat, after bowing to the countess, and shaking 
hands with Fitz Elwyn, whilst mischief twinkled in his 
little bright eyes to the evident discomfiture of his host. “ I 
understand it all, my lord. You think my coming a great 
bore. — You wish I had remained in South America; and 
would ship me across the Atlantic by the next tide if you 
could; but your hopes are vain, my lord; you will not get 
rid of me as early as you desire. 1 shall remain your guest 
and neighbor loo, longer than you imagine, and a welcome 
guest and and neighbor too, I trust.” 

“ Doubtless,” stammered the perplexed earl, utterly con- 
founded at this singular address from this singular person, 
w'ho seemed to set at defiance all his host’s commanding 
dignity; conscious of his dislike without being offended by 
it. 

Fitz Elwyn and the countess looked at each other unable 
to suppress a smile, which was not unobserved by their 
original visitor, who smiled in return as he proceeded. 

“ It is so long since I left England that I have almost 
forgotten English etiquette; but had I stood upon form, as 
your lordship came into the county a week before me, I 
suppose I should have wailed for you to leave your card at 
Woodside, and in due time returned your visit between two 
and five in the afternoon, instead of nine at night.” 

“ Such is the general custom in England,” observed the 
earl with as lofty an air as his growing vexation would per- 
mit. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


79 


“ Ay, my lord, custom is a despot. I am ruled by it my- 
self sometimes; at others I revolt and follow my own will. 
If one cannot show orig^inality in science or poetry one must 
be contented to exercise it on lower things. Now I have 
a glimmering suspicion that, had I waited for your lordship 
to call, I might have waited from Midsummer to Lady day.” 

“ My time is so completely occupied at present, Mr. 
Lake, that I can think of nothing but the election,” began 
his lordship still more loftily; “ and Lady Lindmoor being 
in such delicate health, I have not yet decided on extend- 
ing the circle of my acquaintance.” 

“ And have no inclination to place Mr. Lake within its 
present limited bounds,” observed his visitor, not in the 
least awed by his lordship’s grandeur. “ That is just as I 
said, my lord; had I waited for your calling, I might have 
wailed from Midsummer to Lady day; so, by a bold step, 
I intend to place myself on your visiting list at once; and 
as to the election — that is exactly what I came to converse 
about.” 

“ Indeed. Perhaps you have some idea of starting in op- 
position to Lord Filz Elwyn,” remarked his lordship, tow- 
ering up into greater 'Stateliness. 

The little, old, ugly, sinister looking man, laughed out- 
right at that notion — =-a happy, hearty laugh, and Lord Fitz 
Elwyn, despite all his efforts tobe grave, could not help join- 
ing in his mirth, it was so natural, so infectious. Even 
the earl relaxed somewhat of his stateliness as he heard that 
happy, hearty laugh; and caught his lady’s irrepressible smile. 

“ My father is much fatigued with a long day’s exer- 
tions in my behalf, and has besides important letters to 
write; but if you will honor me with your presence in my 
study I have no doubt that we shall arrange our respective 
claims to membership very amicably,” observed the vis- 
count anxious to save the earl from further annoyance. 

“ I shall not forgf t your kindness,” replied Mr. Lake 
with a touch of feeling, for the viscount’s manner was 
more than courteous — it was friendly; “ but the earl must 
bear with me a little longer. The wild bee may lead you 
a wearying chace, yet she will take you to her honey at 
last; but 1 see the countess is impatient for that honey, so 
we will choose a straighter road. I am not offended be- 


80 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


cause your lordship had no intention of calling on me; you 
have two good and sufficient reasons, if you will but state 
them sincerely. First, you do not like me; secondly, I 
have no vote. Now for the first, 1 hope to mend it; and 
for the second, if I have no vote of my own, I have the 
promise of several from others.” 

“ Have you?” exclaimed the earl, involuntarily glancing 
at Fiiz Elwyn, his eye sparkling with pleasure at the 
thought of securing the election for his son, the object of 
his pride and love. 

“Yes, I have, my lord; five and twenty good men and 
true, gained neither by bribery, nor intimidation; but by a 
fair statement of your son’s merits and principles. You 
must have heard of Mr. Langrish, at the eastern end of the 
county, who has hitherto refused to vote himself, or request 
his tenants to do so. Some slight service rendered him in 
youth, no matter what, induced him to listen to my per- 
suasions; and with his consent I spoke to his tenants and 
the villagers round him — only spoke, mind; there has been 
no coercion expressed, or implied; I condemn — I despise 
all, who use bribery or threats to influence a man against 
his conscience, or deprive a freeman of a freeman’s rights; 
the guilt of perjury is on their souls! Each individual was - 
told that he might vote as he thought just; and out of thirty 
I bring you the promises of five and twenty. I set to work 
as soon as I understood that Lord Fitz Elwyn was to stand, 
and spared no speed; there are their written promises, my 
lord; and they will attend Mr. Langrish to the poll without 
one shilling expense to you, or your friends.” 

“ How shall I thank you, Mr. Lake, for this generous 
kindness to a stranger?” exclaimed Lord Fitz Elwyn in 
surprise. 

“ By looking on that stranger as a friend: unpolished and 
abrupt, but sincere. I esteem you highly, or I should not 
have acted as I have done.” 

The countess looked from their singular visitor to her 
son, and her glistening eyes spoke the mother’s love and 
gratitude. 

The earl was silent for some moments, whilst his gaze 
was bent on the ground; then, shamed out of his prejudice 
by this unsought disinterested kindness, he turned«\yiih an 

• 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


81 


extended hand to the little, ugly, old, sinister looking man, 
his stateliness replaced by the noble frankness of a generous 
mind. 

“ I have been unjust in my judgment — uncourteous in 
my manner, Mr. Lake; and blush for myself. Can you for- 
give me?” 

“ No, my lord, I can not;” replied Mr. Lake, with more 
than his former abruptness, at the same time shaking the ex- 
tended hand so heartily, that the earl shrank from his vice- 
like grasp^ “ Forgiveness implies some offence, and there 
was none. I take odd fancies into my head sometimes; and 
it was one of those fancies not to make myself agreeable to 
your lordship the night we met at Ashton Grove. I marked 
your manner to the Ashtons, and believed pride to be your 
predominant quality; but 1 did you wrong in so judging; 
your pride is only the alloy of nobler things; if I were not 
convinced of that I should not be so plain with you. And 
now tell me how your cause speeds, and whether I can be 
of any further use to you?” 

“ You have already done much — very much — Mr. Lake; 
and your high opinion of my son and frank rebuke to me, 
are not the things for which I feel least grateful. At pre- 
sent, our cause looks well; and yet I can not but be anx- 
ious, sometimes doubting whether I did right in accepting 
the requisition; but that requisition was so flattering to Fitz 
Elwyn that I hope a father may be excused for urging his 
son to accede to it. I conclude you arc aware of the terms 
of that requisition. Changing a small but sufficient income 
for a title with scanty means for its support, since the late 
lord cut off all in his power, leaving the heir to his earldom 
only an expensive house and unproductive estates, I could 
not in prudence and honesty undertake the expenses of a 
contested election; and yet I sometimes blame myself for 
allowing the burden to fall on others, though at their own ur- 
gent request.” 

“ These are the scruples of an honorable mind, my lord; 
but they must not be encouraged. No one else would have 
stood a chance against Mr. Fleetwood; and therefore we, 
for I count myself one of the requisitionists in heart, and 
only not in hand, because no freeholder, consider ourselves 
deeply indebted to your son for consenting to our wishes. 


82 


i THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


That he will do honor to our choice admits not of a doubt; 
and I say not this as mere compliment, for I am no flatte- 
rer, but as an honest man, who is too little of a fashionist 
to tell a lie; and whose lon|ff experience of mankind under 
all circumstances enables him to read the characters of those 
“he meets with rarely fading accuracy. As a stranger and 
no freeholder, I fear my support will carry little weight — my 
canvassing be of little service; but if I can be of use in any 
way command me.” 

“ We are truly grateful for your friendly offers, but, be- 
ing a stranger, I fear indeed that your canvassing would do 
us little good.” 

“ I thought so, and therefore appoint myself Lord Fitz 
Elwyn’s trumpeter. I shall do belter alone than as one of 
a band, being more skilled in Indian than European war- 
fare. I can win scalps in my own wild way; but I never 
could be drilled into set order. “ Face about! — to the right!” 
-—In such cases, I always mistake and go to the left. Un- 
der other circumstances I should not oppose Mr. Fleetwood, 
though he thinks me a tiresome, prosy, old fellow; and is 
the unconscious slave of some of the rusty opinions inher- 
ited from his grandfather, who never would believe that the 
earth moved round the sun; but as he seeks to rival Lord 
Fitz Elwyn I have told him plainly that I will cross him 
in all his hopes, and triumph over him on one point at 
least. But I am forgetting that your lordship is fatigued, 
and that you have letters to write. Good night; and re- 
m^^er that as this visit w’as not made according to the 
rul^, or during the hours appointed by etiquette, yon are 
not required to return it. Electioneering friends are always 
thrown off after the poll is closed; and only taken up again 
on the issuing of a new writ.” 

“This is judging me hardly indeed, Mr. Lake,” observed 
his lordship coloring, and supposing my better qualities 
mixed with the alloy of ingratitude as well as pride. I may 
not have time to return your visit before the election, so 
give us the pleasure, I will not use such a formal word as 
honor, of your company at my wife’s tea table, who like 
a bride of a week, instead of a matron of five and twenty 
years, has been wailing our return.” 

“You must stay; — I will not let you depart,” said the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND, 


83 


countess, perceiving that he hesitated. Who could resist 
the pleading of a grateful mother, and that grateful mother 
a most interesting woman in mind and person? 

“ I yield to no man; but am your ladyship’s willing 
slave.” 

“ And I am too good a wife not to share my triumph 
with my husband,” replied the countess as she allowed 
him to hand her to the tea table. 

“ How have you prospered in your canvassing?” asked 
Cecil of Edward, chancing to meet him alone in the hall 
on his return. 

“ Oh, capitally! and the more I see of Fitz Elwyn the 
more I esteem and admire him. He states his principles 
so honestly, and argues so clearly and yet so gently — ma- 
king no impracticable promises — using no flattery; but per- 
suading through reason, and talking to the poorest person 
with the feeling that he is a man like himself. I wish I 
had a hundred votes for his sake.” 

“ You have lost the color that I gave you, recreant knight!” 
said Cecil, looking up at the speaker with a brightened eye, 
that showed no anger. 

“ No, not lost — only transferred it to one more worthy. 
Nay, don’t be vexed. What could I do? Helen — Miss 
Wilder had prepared colors for her father and me; and in- 
sisted on my giving yours to Lord Fitz Elwyn, who had 
none.” 

“ Give my ribbon to Lord Fitz Elwyn! And did he take 
it? Good Heavens! what must he think!” exclaimed poor 
Cecil pale and trembling. 

“ He does not know who gave it me, Cecil; so you need 
not be in such an agitation. And there would be no such 
great harm if he did.” 

“ He wears my color — but he does not know it. And 
there would be no such great harm if he did,” repeated 
Cecil to herself, as Edward left her, being called away by 
his mother. Thus were both candidates wearing her favors, 
though one unknowingly. And had he known, would he 
have worn it still? It was a singular circumstance, 'i'he 
most finished coquette, wishing to keep the two in her 
train, could not have managed it more dexterously. And 
yet she was no coquette; and might be said to have had 


84 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


no option in the bestowal of her favors. It was strange; 
and that strangeness awakened a superstitious feeling in her 
mind — the fancy that her future fate would turn on this 
election. 

“Hip! hip! hip! hurrah! Fleetwood for ever!” shouted 
Robert in her ear as she was still meditating on the day’s 
occurrences, unconscious of the oddity of reverieing in the 
hall. 

“ What do you mean?” asked Cecil coloring deeply. 

“ Do you wish to know all that I mean?” he replied 
with a strong emphasis on the all. 

“ I will not trouble you for an explanation,” answered 
Cecil turning away. 

“ Nay, it is no trouble; or, if it were, I should shrink 
from nothing to oblige you. Fleetwood has been astonish- 
ingly successful in his canvass to-day, which he attributes 
of course, like a gallant knight, to the influence of the lady 
of the Flower. Nothing can give Fitz Elwyn a chance, but 
the zealous exertions of the Barringham family, who are mo- 
ving heaven and earth, and perhaps a third place too, to 
push him high on the poll. Lady Barbara rides about in a 
dress all blue — a face all smiles — and a tongue all flattery to 
win votes for her future lord. I wish him joy of an elec- 
tioneering wife!” 

“ Lady Barbara has a right openly to espouse his cause,” 
said Cecil to herself; and a pang shot to her heart as she 
said it; but she made no reply to Robert, and as she left 
the hall with a steady step, and her face was from him, he 
could not tell the effect produced by his words. 

“ I do not like Captain Hartley’s being so much at the 
house, and wish you would not encourage him, my dear,” 
said Mr. Ashton to his lady, a few days after the dinner 
given to the earl and countess of Lindmoor. 

“ He will come whether I encourage him or not, being 
such great friends with Charles; and 1 am sure I don’t ask 
him as often as I did Sir *1 hornas Willerton, and you never 
said any thing about my encouraging him. I don’t see 
why Sarah should not have her chance of a husband as 
well as. others,” replied his lady pettishly. 

“Sir Thomas Willerton is a totally different person from 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


85 


Captain Hartley. The first is a man of honor and high 
principle; the last T fear a spendthrift and a libertine.” 

“ La! Mr. Ashton. I am sure I never heard the Cap- 
tain say any thing improper; and I can’t think how you 
could have got such a fancy into your head.” 

“ Perhaps not, my dear; but it is no mere fancy, so I beg 
you will discourage his visits; and tell Sarah not to let him 
accompany her so often in her walks; the neighbors are 
already making remarks, and I fear the girl’s head is turned 
as it is.” 

“ I don’t know what the neighbors can say that we need 
care about, for Sarah never walks with him without Charles; 
and a brother is thought a sufficient chaperon any where.” 

“ I fear his companionship for Charles almost as much 
as for Sarah.” 

“ La, Mr. Ashton! There now that is just like you, 
speaking so mysteriously. What can you fear for Charles or 
Sarah? Captain Hartley is an earl’s nephew, and a very 
fine, handsome, young man.” 

“ Without money, and with no principle.” 

“ Who told you that, Mr. Ashton? Flinter— I am sure it 
was Flinter. He took a perfect hatred to the Captain the 
first day he saw him, because he laughed at his old fash- 
ioned ways.” 

“It was not Flinter.” 

“ Then it was Mr. Lake, Ah! now I have found it. I 
wonder who Mr. Lake is, that he should setup for being so 
much better than other people, and knowing so much more? 
Where is the niece he talked of? I have seen nothing of 
her yet. Wanting me to alter my celery beds indeed. 
What should he know of celery beds living in South 
America all his life? Then he is always coming here at 
odd hours, though he declares he has not a moment to spare; 
and always looking so sharp at every thing and every body, 
as if he were watching an opportunity to turn off with the 
mustard spoon, I can’t think what makes you so fond of 
him, for you did not like him at first, and would not let him 
the house; and now you look delighted to see him; and so 
does Cecil, almost the only person whom she appears glad 
to meet. She is looking worse and worse every day; I 
should not wonder if she did not live long; that is unless 
VoL. IL— 8 


86 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Sir Thomas Willerton should return directly. And there 
is Robert as cross as old Goody Fall who scolds the cat for 
purring, and the kettle for singing, worrying himself ill to 
get votes for Mr. Fleetwood, and yet cutting him up all 
the time, and leaving Edward to play the pretty to Helen 
Wilder, whilst he is flirting so outrageously with that Miss 
Power, whom I never will ask to the house, that the whole 
county is talking of it. He might just as well have voted 
for Lord Fitz Elwyn as he used to be a Whig; and then we 
should have found the Lindmoors friendly neighbors; and 
now, notwithstanding all the earl said, I doubt it; for I was 
only a quarter of a mile from him yesterday, and he turned 
and rode off in another direction. It is all very vexatious; 
— and now this about Sarah and Captain Hartley. I should 
like to know what positive charge that prying Mr. Lake can 
make against him. I have no idea of losing the chance of 
such a man for Sarah, without some good reason.” 

Mr. Ashton in reply to this long and rambling catalogue 
of family vexations, contented himself with relating some 
of the stories told against Captain Hartley, and repeating 
his wish that he might not be encouraged at the house. 

Mrs. Ashton heard, but professed not to believe, and fa- 
vored her husband with a long discourse — the text — scan- 
dal — in which she more than hinted his love for gossip, and 
her contempt for all idle reports; and of which said dis- 
course, according to his usual custom, he did not hear above 
one sixth. Notwithstanding her professed incredulity, how- 
ever, Mrs. Ashton had the good sense to caution Sarah, and 
omit her usual dinner invitations to the Captain. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


87 


CHAPTER VI. 

We are not going to give a detailed account of the can- 
vassing or the canvassers; the praises bestowed on ugly 
houses, ugly children, and ugly women — the courtesies 
showered on the unwashed — the friendship professed for 
the washed — the arguments employed, too meaningless for 
refutation — the promises made, too rich for performance; 
such things have been related, and ably related before; and 
if such details skilfully told awaken smiles, those smiles 
should be followed by sighs, for such details are painful to 
the thinking mind, as showing the debasement of man. 
Alas! that such selfish motives — such degrading acts — such 
falsehood, tyranny, and deceit should mar what would be 
else a glorious sight — a freeman choosing a freeman’s fit- 
ting representative. Let the wealthy look to it! They 
boast of their superior knowledge and refinement; but 
it would be better to be ignorant as the untaught savage, if 
they use their knowledge to deceive and degrade those, who 
are doomed to toil too hardly for the support of the body to 
have much leisure for the improvement of the mind. If 
the rich have greater knowledge and power, they are called 
to the performance of higher duties. “ To whom much is 
given from them will much be required.” The drunken- 
ness — the falsehood — the perjury of elections may be 
brought against them at the last day. The poor may do 
these things, but the rich are consenting thereto; nay worse, 
they are the tempters; — they give the gold that wooes to 
sin — they utter the threats that prevent an honest vote. 

But while we speak of the false courtesies, unperform- 
able promises, and debasing bribery by threat or gift prac- 
tised at the election of a member for the county of , 

we exempt the two candidates and their immediate friends 
from the charges. Lord Fitz Elwyn and Mr, Fleetwood 


88 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


were too honorable and high minded to sanction acts, 
which they considered unworthy of their cause and them- 
selves; and whenever such acts were practised by their 
subordinate partisans they were veiled with a show of de- 
cency in deference to the characters of the leaders, not 
openly proclaimed and boasted of as had been done at some 
former elections. 

Lord Filz Elwyn was a Whig — Mr. Fleetwood a Tory, 
but neither were violent, nor bigoted; both w'ere enlightened, 
Mr. Fleetwood, venerating the w'isdom of his ancestors, 
feared to grant what he admitted might be useful reforms; 
lest those reforms should be made the stepping stones to 
dangerous innovations. Lord Fitz Elwyn venerated the 
wisdom of his forefathers as much as his opponent; but 
felt convinced that he emulated their wisdom, and proved 
himself worthy of being their descendant, by adapting the 
ancient laws and customs to the present times, suiting them 
to the general advancement of intelligence among the great 
mass of mankind. Mr. Fleetwood countenanced education 
without any hope of its increasing the comforts or elevating 
the thoughts of the lower classes; Lord Fitz Elwyn advo- 
cated it with all his eloquence, and advanced it with all his 
influence, hoping thereby to raise the mental and bodily 
condition of the laboring orders. Mr. Fleetwood had a 
well informed mind and steady judgment; — Lord Fitz 
Elwyn added to these a generous enthusiasm, which made 
him more ardent in friendship, more earnest in his hopes 
and exertions. 

They were not friends — they never had been friends; — 
a trivial circumstance on their first introduction, had rather 
set them against each other, but they were high minded 
rivals, carefully courteous in manner when together, careful- 
ly courteous in speech when apart, requesting, ordering, 
and entreating their adherents to pursue the same gentle- 
manly course. 

Wlielher this rivalship was quite as generous in their in- 
most hearts as in their open speech and manner — whether 
it was entirely as they endeavored to impress on their 
partisans a rivalship of opinions not of men; and whether 
no bitter personal feeling — no consciousness of rivalship 
elsewiiere than in the senate made each more eager for vie- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


89 


tory, as in the contest for the silver arrow, we ask not — 
and we tell not; their words and their acts were worthy 
commendation, and thoughts are not amenable to human 
censure, though fairly judged by the Most High. But 
though the etforts of the candidates and their intimate 
friends gave to the contest a calmer and more generous 
character than on preceding occasions, still those efforts 
could not completely repress party dissensions. They and 
their families declared that no political difference should 
change their friendly feelings towards their respective neigh- 
bors — that, vote as they would, they would count no such 
voting unneighborly; and this was meant as well as said; 
but all must know how in any case, but particularly rn mo- 
ments of political excitement, we naturally become more 
closely knit to those who are strenuous in the same cause — 
how involuntarily estranged from those who wish success 
to our opponents. And why should the election for the 
county of prove an exception to this general rule. 

Lord Lindmoor had declared that the voting of Mr. Ash- 
ton and his son for xMr. Fleetwood would make no differ- 
ence in his friendly feeling towards the family, and perhaps 
the change was very slight, his friendly feelings being far 
below fever heat; but still some little difference it did make 
possibly unknown to himself. His mind frequently recur- 
red to Robert’s ungracious manner — each time with increas- 
ing ill will; and by the same process, he acquired such a 
horror of INlrs. Ashton’s fussy endeavors to make every one 
round her! — “ healthy, wealthy, and wise,” — that she was 
not wrong in supposing he had ridden a mile out of his 
way to avoid an encounter. Edward grew day by day in 
his esteem; but every casual meeting with Robert confirm- 
ed his dislike, that fitful youth appearing to take pleasure 
in annoying him and his son. His alienation from the in- 
habitants of Ashton Grove had not yet been shown in overt 
acts, his time being too much occupied with the coming 
election to admit of much neighborly visiting, but then the 
feeling was in his mind ready to influence his conduct when 
called into play by circumstances; and how soon those cir- 
cumstances might arise no one could tell. 

In spite of Mr. Ashton’s cautions, Sarah and Captain 
Hartley were nearly as much together out of doors as before, 

8 * 


90 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


though seeing little of each other within; aud Lord Lind- 
moor, on receiving a hint of the fact from a friend, (some 
thought Mr. Lake,) plainly told his nephew and former 
ward that he never would give his consent to a match, 
which from want of means on both sides, and want of mo- 
rals on his, could only entail misery upon all concerned. 

“ Wait till I ask you, my lord,” was the young man’s 
reply, preventing all further comment by leaving the room. 

The election, and the idea that Mrs. Ashton was trying 
to catch a husband for her daughter, who doubtless shared 
her interested views, and was therefore unworthy of his 
care, checked a more public interference at the time. He 
knew that his nephew was too selfish and penetrating to be 
taken in — he also knew that Mr. Ashton had been warned; 
and this he considered sufficient for the present. 

We have already said that we would not enter into a de- 
tailed account of the preliminary business of the election; 
and shall content ourselves with saying that that business 
was carried on with the greatest activity on either side. — 
Canvassing parties, wearing both colors traversed the coun- 
try in all directions, sometimes meeting with good humor, 
and parting with a jest — sometimes meeting with a scowl, 
and parting with an angry word. Edward had taken up 
his abode almost entirely with the Wilders, only paying an 
occasional visit at home; and Robert frequently slept at Mr. 
Fleetwood’s or the neighboring towns, returning if he re- 
turned at all, late at night, wearied and out of temper, 
though aflfecting high spirits, and speaking of the success 
of the tories as certain. 

The writ had been issued — the day of nomination fixed 
for 'I'hursday; and as Robert was waiting for his horse on 
the preceding morning he told his mother that, in all proba- 
bility she would not see him again till after the election — 
“ 'I'hat is, if the Whigs should be silly enough to go to the 
poll; knowing, as they must, that they can have no chance,” 
he added looking towards Cecil. “ We shall be very busy 
to-day, and to-morrow I must attend Fleetwood to the hall 
as my father’s representative, since he cannot be induced to 
go. But remember, sir, you have promised to vote.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Ashton with a sigh, shrinking from the 
trouble. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


91 


“ But what do you do Sunday, Robert? I hope you do 
not mean to be rampaging all over the country on the Sab- 

“No mother mine. We are to go in procession, eight 
hundred strong, with banners and all, to the county cathe- 
dral, to prove our veneration for Church and State. It will 
be a very imposing sight.’’ 

“ So it will! I should like to drive over and see it. Nel- 
thorpe is only fourteen miles off,” observed Mrs. Ashton, 
who could never resist a sight, and was completely deceived 
by her son’s gravity. 

“ It is sixteen miles at the very least; and Robert is only 
laughing at your taste for raree shows,” remarked her hus- 
band. 

“ Then he might be more profitably employed,” rejoined 
Mrs. Ashton with unusual severity. 

“ So he might, my dear mother; but when was Robert 
Ashton employed profitably for himself or others?” exclaim- 
ed her son with bitterness. “ He has a wild bee in his 
bonnet, that sometimes stings him to madness. Now I 
think of it, Miss Clare, Fleetwood bade me convince you 
of his deep regret at being detained from your presence, 
and add that he should keep a servant ready mounted, and 
on the final declaration of the state of the poll send you the 
choicest bouquet that Staunton can furnish, as a token of his 
success. And you may count on the bouquet, for he is cer- 
tain of victory.” 

“ I beg Mr. Fleetwood will take no such trouble,” replied 
Cecil coldly, coloring in spite of herself at Robert’s an- 
nouncement, which was rendered more annoying by his 
manner. 

“ I will report your reply; but of course, he will not heed 
my words,” said Robert as he left the room. 

If her sons were busy, riding, speaking, carrying messa- 
ges, and canvassing voters, Mrs. Ashton was quite as busy; 
bustling liere — and bustling there; — you might have thought 
her Sheriff’ — Under Sheriff — the returner of the writ; and 
all the poll clerks entered in one, she seemed to have such 
a weight of business on her hands; wondering who would 
propose and second the candidates — for whom this person 
would vote — and what that person would say; warning this 


92 


THE QUIET HtjSBAND. 


voter not to get tipsy, and the other not to get into a row. 
To sit still at home was out of the question, so away she 
went to the next town, and the two nearest villages, leaving 
those at Ashton Grove to settle themselves in quiet to their 
books or their work, if they remained uninfected with the 
prevailing epidemic — restlessness. 

Against such an epidemic, whatever might be said of the 
others, Mr. Ashton was proof, so he retired with a book to 
his study, whence, after the lapse of some hours, he issued 
again at a sober pace, for the purpose of taking his usual 
walk; but that walk was not to be solitary, for he had not 
proceeded far before he was joined by Flinter, who seemed 
to have been watching for him for the purpose of acquaint- 
ing him with sundry details touching the farm and park, 
which he considered it right that master should know. We 
say acquainting, rather than consulting, as Flinter rarely 
applied to any one for advice; and it was one of his great- 
est merits in the eyes of his indolent master that his bailiff 
always told him what he had done, instead of asking what 
he should do; and taking his silence for consent, always 
repeated to others that master and he had agreed on doing 
this or that. 

“The farmers may grumble as they please — there are 
some people never satisfied — but for my part, considering 
all things, I thinks we gets on very well, as I have just been 
a telling you,” continued Flinter, having nearly arrived at 
the close of the farming commentaries, for however silent 
to Mrs. Ashton and some others he always found some- 
thing to say to his master. “ Old Colonel is worn out. — I 
can’t say but what he is; and I suppose we must buy that 
young cart-horse of Farmer Head’s; but I won’t give his 
price for it — that’s poz; and so I told un. I’ll only give 
what’s reasonable; and to set off that. Butcher Grindel is to 
take the young heifer, the one with the star in her forehead, 
and not for nothing neither. I ain’t lamed, as Missus says, 
but I makes the farm pay well; and that is more than some 
of them can say an writes like parliament men.” 

“I am very well satisfied with your management,” said 
Mr. Ashton kindly. 

“Thank you for sayiag so, sir. It is a pleasure to be 
your bailey for you never interferes; and if there comes a 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


93 


bad crop one year, you only hopes for a better the next, 
knowing that I’d have had it fine weather if I could. Some 
people are never satisfied, but always prying about here and 
there, and spying out just what one don’t want them to 
see; not but what one should look about one too, only then 
one should do it in a quiet way, not pressing and bustling 
every body. Now I maintains as how we quiet ones, as 
makes no scrimmage, sees more nor them who pokes their 
noses in every where, and purtends to see every thing. 
‘All cry and" no wool!’ is the way with some folks; and to 
my mind it is just so with Missus; you and I sir, sees more 
than she any day of the week. She is always a looking at 
the other end of a fallow field, and so never sees the hare in 
the furrow at her feet.” 

Mr. Ashton smiled at the idea, but made no remark; and 
Flinter looked disappointed. Had his master really been 
the keen observer he believed, he would have seen that the 
now loquacious bailiff had a something to tell, which he 
did not exactly know how to introduce. 

“Pretty fuss Jack has to drive them pigs,” he remarked 
after a short silence, thus directing Mr. Ashton’s attention 
to some obstreperous porkers, that showed a dciennination 
to go every way but the right; grunting and squealing, run- 
ning wrong, or standing stock still. “They be kittle things 
to manage to my mind; e’en a’most as kittle as 3^oung gals.” 

“ What gives such a bad opinion of young girls?” asked 
Mr. Ashton, smiling at Flinter’s comparison. 

“ What I sees, sir;” replied Flinter with solemnity; “not 
but what the young gentleman is most to blame, only then 
young galls should take warning from them as is older, and 
have seen more of the world. I made bold to tell Miss 
Sarah that he was not fit for her some time ago; but she 
only told me to mind my wheat and oats, and not meddle 
with her. As if I did not love all your children, sir, as 
though they was my own, and look upon them just the 
same too. Strange if I did not, and been so many years 
in the family, boy and man, and my father afore me; first 
baily to your brother, and then to you. 

“No one doubts your regard for the family; but what is 
this about Miss Sarah? who is not fit for her?” 

“Why, sir, you see that is just what I wants you to 


94 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


know; for I don’t think you can guess how matters is 
going on, nor Missus neither exactly, though she believes 
she do. I means that Captain Hartley ain’t fit for her; and 
no more he ain’t, for I seed him give Lion, our house dog, 
a cut with his whip, all for nothing; and a man as will do 
that will never make a good husband; and he knows nothing 
about farming. Besides, that ain’t the worst of him, for 
his servant, who used to be an honest lad enough when I 
knowed un as a boy, though I don’t think his morals is 
much mended by being with the Captain, tells dreadful 
tales of his master’s doings; gaming, and drinking, and 
worse things too, that I could not tell Miss Sarah. It was 
that which made his poor mother. Lord Lindmoor’s sister, 
so ill and ’most killed her. The earl paid some of his 
xlebts; but he has got many more left, and Ralph tells me 
that he says he can’t afford to marry, so he ain’t a proper 
person to keep company with Miss Sarah; and yet they 
are a walking together every day; sometimes with Master 
Charles, and sometimes without, according to whether he 
is out electioneering or not. I am sure, sir, now that you 
knows of it, you won’t let it be.” 

“ I have already spoken to Mrs. Ashton on the subject; 
and Captain Hartley comes very seldom to the house.” 

“Perhaps not, sir; but then he does worse, always walk- 
ing about the park, and shrubberies, waiting for Miss Sarah; 
and it is seldom a day that he don’t find her. The villagers 
make disrespectful remarks about it, and he don’t mind 
laughing at the family when she ain’t by. I tell you what, 
sir, there is mischief in the wind — Captain Hartley is going 
away directly, for Lord Lindmoor has been finding fault 
with him, and won’t ask him to stay any longer; and if 
you don’t look sharp, sir, he will coax Miss Sarah to go 
with him.” 

“ Nonsense, Flinter! I wonder how you can suspect such 
a thing. Miss Sarah has higher ideas of duty,” replied 
Mr. Ashton with unusual severity. 

“ It is no nonsense, sir, you may depend on that; and I 
warns you again to look sharp. Duty this — and duty that; 
— it seems to me that duly is pretty much what folks choose 
to make it now-a-days. People think that old Flinter 
knows nothing about lovers, and all that; but he knows 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


95 


more than they thinks for, as time will show,” observed 
the honest, but touchy bailiff, turning away in dudgeon at 
his warning having been slighted, and muttering as he went, 
according to his usual custom when annoyed. 

“ You are just the person I want to speak with, Flinter,” 
said Mrs. Ashton, meeting him unluckily before his ill-hu- 
mor had passed away. 

“ Well, ma’am, and what do you please to want with me?” 
inquired Flinter, drawing up of a sudden, for, blinded by 
his displeasure, he had nearly walked over his mistress 
without perceiving her, looking more stiff and unconver- 
sable than ever. 

“ I want to know what you have done about Purcell’s 
pigs?” 

“Threatened to put them in the pound, ma’am.” 

“You threatened that long since, why have you not 
done it?” 

“’Cause I can’t catch them in the turmits, ma’am.” 

“You don’t keep a sharp look out,” 

“ If others kept a sharp look out about other things— 
things would go better ma’am.” 

“ 1 don’t know what you mean by that, Flinter, unless 
that your master never looks into any thing.” 

“ I did not mean nothing at all about master, ma’am.” 

“It does not matter what you mean. But have you been 
to see the harrow at Mrs. Praed’s?” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“And why don’t you go? I spoke to you about it more 
than six months ago.” 

“ I han’t got time, ma’am.” 

“ Not time! I should like to know what you find to do.” 

“Every body is busy at this election now, ma’am.” 

“ Election! What have you to do with the election? The 
fact is, you don’t choose to go.” 

“ Yes, that is just it; you have hit upon it, ma’am.” 

“ I thought as much, though you ought to be ashamed 
to own it. You are the most bigoted, obstinate person I 
know. I don’t doubt your honesty — ” 

“ Doubt my honesty, ma’am? I should think not indeed! 
No one ever yet doubted Thomas Flinter’s honesty,” ex- 


96 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


claimed the sturdy bailiff flaming out into open passion. 
“If you doubts it, ma’am, I’ll go — that’s all.” 

“Nonsense, Flinter; I said that I did not doubt it,” re- 
plied Mrs. Ashton, who was always a little alarmed by his 
threats of going, knowing that the whole family would in 
such a case take part against her. “ It is very provoking 
that you never will try a new thing, only because it is 
new, when I take such pride and pleasure in the farm, and 
wish to see it the best managed in the county.” 

“ Well, ma’am, and so it is; expence considered, it pays 
better than any for thirty miles round. And I don’t like 
new things, that is for certain; more especial that Fad-nah- 
washerwoman^ as you was a telling me about the other day.” 

“ Well, I won’t ask you to use that,” observed Mrs. 
Ashton with a heightened color, fearful lest Flinter should 
find out the fact that the highly lauded Pferdknabewas- 
serunger was a hoax, shrewdly suspected to have been 
planned if not executed by Robert. “ I won’t say any 
thing more about it.” 

“Perhaps that might be as well, ma’am; but you knows 
best,” replied Flinter with a look which still further height- 
ened her ruddy bloom. The blunt and taciturn bailiff had 
much more penetration than people gave him credit for. 

“ I have been reading a book lately written by a very 
clever man about soils, and the crops that suit them best; 
and I have decided that Tiler’s Field shall be put into wheat 
next year,” continued Mrs. Ashton, taking no notice of the 
bailiff’s comment, and speaking fast to cover her confusion. 
“ You have it in barley now, which is wasting its goodness. 
Remember what a capital crop of wheat you had there last 
year; and do try wheat again this next.” 

“ Wheat arter barley! and wheat the year afore! Who 
ever heard of such a thing?” almost shouted the bailiff, 
plunging his knotted stick some inches into the earth in the 
energy of his disgust and anger, drawing his feet together, 
and standing stiff and starch with head erect like an awk- 
ward recruit at drill. 

“ It may be a very good plan, though you have not heard 
of it; for you never read any farming books.” 

“ Larn farming from reading, ma’am,” exclaimed Flinter 
contemptuously. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


97 


“ Yes, much may be learned from reading; and at any 
rate, I insist on Tiler’s field being tried in wheat next year.” 

“ I could not in my conscience, ma’am; it would be a 
robbing of master, and I could not venture to show my face 
among the farmers — they would so jeer.” 

“ Nonsense, Flinter, I will listen to no more folly. You 
can say I ordered it.” 

“ You ordered it! Well then, ma’am, it comes to this — 
be you to manage the farm, or be I? If I, then it shan’t be 
wheat next year — that’s poz; if you, then I’ll go and wish 
master and the family good bye directly, for I won’t stay 
where I can be of no use, receiving wages for nothing — that 
would not be honest. Lord Fitz Elwyn will take me any 
day, and jump to have me too — I knows that.” 

“ You are so hot and headstrong, there is no getting you 
to listen to reason,” observed Mrs. Ashton excessively pro- 
voked; and yet afraid to persist in having Tiler’s field 
cropped as she wished. 

“There is no reason in having wheat arter barley; and 
no reasonable person would say so.” 

“ It is of no use disputing the point, you are so obstinate, 
and always will have your own way,” said Mrs. Ashton, 
walking off in great vexation, part of which was discharged 
on the head of the unhappy poultry woman, who had ne- 
glected some of her minute directions touching the young 
turkies. 

“To be sure! and I always will have my own way — 
when I can,” muttered Flinter, snatching his heavy stick 
out of the earth, and trudging off in an opposite direction, 
mumbling to himself about — “ honesty — Purcell’s pigs — 
wheat after barley — and what should women know of 
farming?” 

“ What is the matter, Flinter? do you mean to walk over 
me?” asked Cecil, stepping out of the way of the offended 
bailiff, who was striding on at a prodigious pace along a 
narrow path. 

“Walk over yon. Miss Cecil! Lord love ye, no. I 
would not do such a wickedness as that for a great deal; 
you are always so civil and kind spoken. But you see, 
Miss Cecil, missus have been putting me into a pet, wanting 
to have wheat arter barley, and wheat the year afore too. 
VoL. II.— 9 


98 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Such a thing was never heard of! Even you would know 
better than that.” 

“ Not I indeed,” replied Cecil smiling. 

“ Well then you would believe what I said against it; and 
that would do just as well. And then missus have been 
worrying me about Purcell’s pigs. Choke them pigs! they 
be the most aggravating pigs I ever met with. They be 
always in our best turmit field, and yet I can never catch 
them there, or I would pound them in a minute. I am sure 
them pigs keeps a watchman, or the Purcell’s boys watches 
for them; and sees me a mile off.” 

“ You like roast beef — and the pigs like turnips; — it is a 
natural liking in both; and your turnips are so very tempt- 
ing,” said Cecil, highly amused at his abuse of the pigs. 

“ May be. Miss Cecil; but I never eats roast beef that don’t 
belong to me; even missus can’t accuse me of dishonesty.” 

“ And I am sure 1 don’t, Flinter. I forgot the immorality 
of the pig’s proceedings.” 

“ It is very aggravating them pigs are; — but I’ll have 
them yet. Howsomdever I am very glad to see you smile, 
Miss Cecil, about any thing; for you have been looking 
very mollycholly of late; but I have a piece of good news 
for you. Never mind what Master Robert Says; he don’t 
know what to be at himself, and so he takes pleasure in 
vexing you. I knows from good authority that if Lord 
Fitz Elvvyn don’t get the election, which land many others 
hopes and thinks, he will run Mr. Fleetwood hard at any 
rate. Lord Fitz Elvvyn is a real gentleman, and has a 
monstrous pretty notion of farming; and ’grees with me in 
most things. We have often a talk together, and he always 
speaks as kind and civil as if I was a viscount, and that, in 
course, makes me more humble and respectful. He is the 

man to my mind; and so I hope the county will say too 

and somebody else besides. He is very poplar among the 
poor you may depend upon that; and if I hears any rnore 
good news about him. I’ll be sure and tell you, Miss Cecil. 
He ain’t going to have Lady Barbara — I’ll be bail for that. 
Keep up your spirits, and get your color, and then all will 
go right — trust Thomas Flinter, who sees more of these 
matters than most people think for. So I wish you a good 
morning, for I must go arter them pigs,” cried the honest 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


99 


bailiff, doffing his hat in the most respectful style, and leav- 
ing Cecil with cheeks as red as his favorite Sunday waist- 
coat, whilst he trudged after Purcell’s pigs, muttering as 
before. “I saw her turn all of a tremble one day when he 
rode up with Sir Thomas; and he don’t talk so long to me 
all for nothing, nor about the farm neither. He likes me 
to say something about her, though he never asks; and looks 
any how and no how when I names her. Ay, ay, Thomas 
Flinter knows something about lovers still, though he was 
very young when he courted Bessy Purvis; and now he is 
getting an old man. Poor Bessy ! I thought I should have 
died of a broken heart when I saw her put into the grave; 
but these people, and especially men, don’t die for sorrow 
after all; they are very bad at first, and thinks of nothing 
else! and then, some how or other, little by little, they begin 
to think of one thing and another, till at last they go about 
their work like other folks. Poor persons who have to get 
their living have not so much time to vex as the gentry, 
who have nothing else to do; and so, perhaps, we are better 
off in some things after all; and the world ain’t so unequal. 
If we have not one thing to fret us, we have another, or 
else we worries ourselves, not being contented with what 
God gives us. I never had a second sweetheart, but helps 
all true lovers for Bessy’s sake, as she may know if she 
knows any thing; and I hopes to meet her hereafter at the 
day of judgment to tell her so. When I am doubtful 
sometimes about talking another glass, I thinks of what 
Bessy used to say about drinking; and then I puts it down 
again. We can’t do any thing that would vex those we 
really love, even though they are in their graves.” 

However slightingly Mr. Ashton appeared to receive 
Flinter’s warning at the time, he afterwards named the sub- 
ject to his wife; who in her turn, though equally incredu- 
lous and angry with the bailiff’ for such a supposition, ques- 
tioned her daughter on the subject, whose replies set her 
fears completely at rest. 

Sarah knew that Captain Hartley was going away, for 
he had told her so some days before; and he had also natned 
his intention of calling to take leave of the Ashtons, fixing 
an hour when she would be engaged elsewhere; in short, 
the girl’s manner was so perfectly indifferent when she 


100 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


spoke of his departure, that Mrs. Ashton was not only com- 
pletely reassured but triumphant. “ It was a piece of Flin- 
ter’s scandal to vex her. As if any daughter of hers could 
even imagine such an indecorum as an elopement!” The 
suspicion was an injustice to both she determined; so when 
the Captain really did call to take leave she was gracious 
in her manner, and profuse in her good wishes. 

Sarah’s sudden show of indifference might have been less 
satisfactory to one more penetrating. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


101 


CHAPTER II. 

It was 'the evening preceding the day of nomination; and 
to rectify some mistake about the attendance of certain in- 
fluential gentlemen on the morrow, Robert Ashton under- 
took a late ride of several miles. Mr. Fleetwood was 
warm in his thanks; but Robert checked his expressions of 
gratitude, conscious that his apparent zeal arose rather from 
the fretting restlessness of his own spirit, than from any 
exalted friendship for the young candidate. 

The message was delivered — the mistake rectified — and 
Robert was on his return to Hartston, whence he was to 
accompany some more of Mr. Fleetwood’s friends in the 
morning to the County Hall, when he was stopped in his 
headlong speed, for slow riding suited not his excited hu- 
mor, by a dispute about a sixpence, between the man at the 
toll-gate, and a gentleman’s valet, occupying the rumble of 
a travelling carriage. He would have dashed through; but 
there was not space in the gateway, and, though chafing 
at the delay, he was obliged to wait till the servant had 
produced another sixpence, and received a ticket. The 
toll keeper was old and slow, and an impatient voice from 
the carriage urged him to more haste. 

That voice was neither unknown, nor pleasant to his 
ears — it was the voice of Captain Hartley; and as the car- 
riage passed, he fancied he saw by the glimmering of the 
lamp, and the dim light of the moon, that the Captain had 
a female companion. 

Where could Captain Hartley be going at that time of 
night, and with a female too? At best, it was suspicious. 
He might be mistaken; but if not, who could the female 
be? And then again what could it matter to him, either the 
purpose of the Captain’s singularly timed journey, or the 
name of his fair friend? Reason answered, nothing; but he 

9 * 


102 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


was in too excited a state to listen to reason. Notwith- 
standing his boasts to Cecil he had strong fears as to the 
issue of the coming contest: — he had been irritated through- 
out the day with accounts of the number of votes promised 
to Lord Fitz Elwyn — every fresh report had increased his 
ill will towards the viscount; and, above all, to enable him 
to endure fatigue and keep up his spirits he had been drink- 
ing more than usual — not enough to make him stupid — not 
enough to obscure his faculties; but just enough to render 
him more touchy, more irascible and suspicious than he 
was by nature. 

Captain Hartley was Fitz Elwyn’s cousin; and his char- 
acter justified the supposition that if he had a female with 
him at such a time it was one whom he would be ashamed 
to have recognised. To expose him would be to bring a 
scandal on the opposite party, and furnish grounds for an- 
noying squibs, or declamations on morality, if nothing else, 
and Robert, in his rage against Fitz Elwyn, never conside- 
red whether such a proceeding would be just or generous. 

It was a mysterious circumstance, and he hated myste- 
ries; that is, he liked to unravel them, so, after he had pur- 
sued an opposite direction for more than two miles, he sud- 
denly turned his horse’s head and galloped after the carriage 
to the great surprise of the toll keeper. He knew by the 
ticket that its destination was the county town, and there- 
fore towards the county town he followed as fast as his 
jaded horse would bear him, his knowledge of the country 
enabling him to choose a shorter cut than that pursued by 
those he followed. 

“ Has a dark travelling carriage with a man servant be- 
hind passed through?” he inquired of the toll keeper at the 
entrance to Nelthorpe, who was a favorer of the purples. 

“ Not five minutes since, sir.” 

“ Who was in it?” 

“Captain Hartley, sir, Lord Lindmoor’s nephew; and a 
lady with a straw bonnet, pink ribbons, and white shawl, 
whose face I could not see as her veil was down, though, 
as I fancied from the servant’s looks that it was a Gretna 
Green affair, I pretended to find fault with the ticket, and 
flashed my lantern into the carriage. I should not have 
done it to one of my own party, sir. To be sure, he had 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


103 


not four horses; but then horses are scarce just now; or 
perhaps the captain had only a pair to deceive people.” 

For a minute Robert stood aghast and confounded; then 
flinging half a crown to the man for his intelligence, he 
buried the rowels of his spurs in the horse’s sides and gal- 
loped on more furiously than ever. 

A straw bonnet with pink ribbons, and white shawl; 
such was Sarah’s usual dress! He had heard comments 
on her walking with Captain Hartley, and dim as liad been 
the light he fancied that now with the aid of this hint he 
could recognise his sister in the midnight fugitive. 

If anxious to overtake the carriage before, he was still 
more anxious to do so now, when a personal injury sharpened 
him to a stern revenge. The gambler and the libertine, 
who, outraging the hospitality shown him by her parents, 
had persuaded a girl, scarcely seventeen, to elope with him, % 
forgetful of all her duties, must not only yield up his prize, 
but wash out the offence with his blood. Nothing less 
could appease his rage. To conceal his sister’s error — to 
save her from scandal and misery were nothing in compa- 
rison to sating his thirst for vengeance. Hartley was Fitz 
Elwyn’s relative; — the viscount should be wounded through 
his cousin. 

Though nearly one o’clock, the inhabitants of the good 
town of Nelthorpe were not all at rest; lights still gleamed 
from some of the upper windows, and men were hurrying 
through the streets, or stopping in groups of two or three 
to talk over the nomination that was to take place in the 
great hall on the succeeding morning. These turned their 
heads as Robert galloped up the ill pitched streets, the clat- 
ter of his horse’s hoofs sounding almost fearful in the stilly 
night, whilst the sparks, struck from the rough stones as he 
passed, resembled the spirited description of Leonora’s 
spectre bridegroom in his midnight ride. One man taking 
him for an express shouted to ask his news; but he made 
no reply — he did not even hear the question, but held on 
his headlong course, heedless of the wonder his speed ex- 
cited. He reckoned that the fugitive would stop to change 
horses if not at the first inn, then at the next; and on he 
sped till he saw the dark travelling carriage which he had 
so hotly pursued standing before the George, a large old 


104 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


fashioned hotel, that stood a little back from the street, 
having a small court yard before it, the front of which was 
so profusely decorated with sky blue ribbons and laurel, 
that he might have seen at a glance it was a rendezvous 
of the Whigs, had he not been already aware of its being 
the head quarters of Lord Fitz Elwyn and his particular 
friends. 

The weary horses just released from the traces were 
walking off towards the stables, panting and smoking; 
whilst four fresh ones were putting to as quickly as possi- 
ble, the ostlers being urged to speed by Captain Hartley’s 
servant, who complained of tlie posters not being ready 
according to order. Some idlers with the blue badge were 
still loitering about the yard, and two or three gentlemen 
were standing in the door-way, but Robert Ashton saw 
H none of these — he saw only the carriage containing his sis- 
ter and her worthless lover, for, during his ride, he had not 
only worked himself up into a fiercer rage, but also into a 
certainty that Captain Hartley’s female companion could 
be no other than Sarah. 

Blinded by his wrath, his only idea was to tear her from 
her lover’s arms, and inflict on him the punishment which 
he so well deserved; and for this purpose, reigning up his 
horse abruptly at the side on which he expected to find his 
sister, he sj)rang to the ground, and wrenching open the 
door called fiercely on Sarah to come forth, either not car- 
ing or not considering that by so doing he would attract the 
attention of the loiterers, and thereby make his sister’s 
elopement the popular subject of conversation among ost- 
lers, stableboys, and other chance listeners. 

“ Come forth this instant, Sarah, or I must compel you,” 
repealed the infuriated Robert almost choking with passion, 
stretching forth his hand to grasp her arm and enforce obe- 
dience. 

“ What do you mean by this violence,” demanded Cap- 
tain Hartley, throwing off his grasp, for it was that gentle- 
man’s arm and not Sarah’s on which he had laid so strong 
a hold. 

“Give up my sister, or take the consequences,” cried 
Robert furiously setting his teeth and clenching his fist. 

“ You are beside yourself, Mr. Robert Ashton, or you 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


105 


would show more consideration for your sister’s fair fame 
than to make such a demand of me in such a public place. 
I am on my way to my mother, who is ill; and must beg 
you to allow me to proceed without further hindrance,” 
replied Captain Hartley with a coolness and self-possession 
that for the instant staggered his impetuous foe, who involun- 
tarily drew back a step. 

“ Drive on!” shouted Captain Hartley, availing himself 
of his opponent’s doubt and pulling to the door as he 
spoke. 

But the postilions were not mounted, and ere the order 
could be obeyed Robert had recovered from his momentary 
surprise. 

“You stir not an inch till I have seen the features of 
the female beside you,” exclaimed Robert resolutely, again 
endeavoring to force open the door, which was firmly held 
from within. 

“ You are not in your right senses, Mr. Ashton; and 
therefore I must shape my conduct accordingly; you are all 
honest blues,” he continued, speaking from the window to 
those in the court-yard. “ Will you let a purple — a mad- 
man stop your gallant young member’s cousin on his way 
to his sick mother?” 

“ No, No!” shouted those who had gathered round at his 
appeal. 

“ A purple! A purple in our very head quarters! — A 
spy! a spy! Let us take him to the pump! — Ay, ay! the 
pump! the pump!” responded others, rushing forward to 
seize Robert, who clung to the carriage door, his fury in- 
creased by his opponent’s coolness. 

“No row! — no disturbance my good friends! Let us 
bring no disgrace on our cause by violence,” cried Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, who entered the yard at the moment, accom- 
panied by Captain Wilder, and another gentleman, advanc- 
ing as he spoke to stay the rising tumult, though perfectly 
unconscious of its cause. 

“ I appeal to your lordship for honorable treatment: — for 
justice, if I may hope to receive it from any of your race,” 
exclaimed the highly excited Robert, dashing back the 
foremost of those who would have laid hands upon him. 

“ I know none of my race from whom Mr. Robert Ash- 


106 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ton would receive other than honorable treatment,” replied 
Lord Fitz Elwyn warmly, for the young man’s manner was 
still more insulting than his words, and the viscount’s tem- 
per had already been sorely tried by many contre-temps 
and some reported slanders thought to have originated with 
the speaker. “ 1 am exceedingly sorry that a rather un- 
timely visit to our head quarters should have subjected you 
to any inconvenience; but I shall be happy to attend you to 
the abode of your friends, and thus secure you from all 
further annoyance.” 

“ No, Lord Fitz Elwyn; I care not for all your myrmi- 
dons together. Set them on a defenceless man if you will 
an hour hence, but to prove the honor of which you boast, 
I call on you to give me up my sister, lured from her home 
by the arts of a villain — your cousin. Captain Hartley.” 

“ You use strong and unfriendly language Mr. Ashton, 
which can only be excused by some great family misfor- 
tune. I know nothing of your sister; and am not even 
aware to which of the Miss Ashtons you allude.” 

“ You act wisely in denying all knowledge of your cou- 
sin’s disgraceful conduct, my lord, since the tale would gain 

neither honor nor votes for the would-be-member for 

shire; and that it shall be told depend upon it.” 

“ Tell what you please, Mr. Ashton, but look that you 
tell the truth. Again I assure you that I know nothing of 
the elopement.” 

“ Do you mean to say, my lord, that I have told, or would 
tell a lie!” demanded Robert, fiercely, advancing towards 
the viscount, and holding up his whip in a threatening atti- 
tude. 

“ You should know me better than to suppose that I 
could be moved to recall what I have said by threatening 
words, and threatening looks,” replied I^ord Fitz Elwyn, 
fronting his accuser, and standing prepared to wrench the 
whip from his hand, should he show the slightest symptoms 
of an intention to use it. “ If you say that I know of, or 
had any share in, your sister’s elopement, you say that 
which is not true: — if you do not say so, then my words 
cannot apply.” 

“ But 1 do say ” 

“ You do not know what you say, Robert,” cried Cap- 


tHE QUIET HUSBAND. 


107 


tain Wilder interrupting him, and laying his hand on the 
arm of the excited young man. “ You are too much agi- 
tated to be aware of the meaning of your words. What 
has happened to disturb you thus?” 

“ Drive on,” said Captain Hartley, in alow voice to the 
postilion on the wheel horse, leaning out of the window to 
give the order, hoping to escape during the contention be- 
tween his cousin and Mr. Ashton: — but he was mistaken. 

“ Stir not!” cried the authoritative voice of Robert; and 
the postilion obeyed. “ You say, my lord, that you know 
not of your cousin’s elopement, if so, as a man of honor, 
you will join with me in demanding the restoration of my 
sister,” he added, turning again to the viscount. 

“ I will do all that a man of honor should do, Mr. Ash- 
ton, though your words and manner are far from courteous. 
If my cousin have, as you assert, carried off your sister, I 
will neither defend him in his conduct, nor aid him in re- 
taining the lady; — but where is the proof of this?” 

“ In that carriage.” 

“ Is the charge against you true, or false. Hartley?” de- 
manded Lord Fitz Elwyn, beginning to understand the cause 
of the dispute. 

“ I am no boy to answer the questions, or defend myself 
against the charges of a madman,” replied Captain Hanley 
assuming a lofty tone. 

“ This is the pitiful evasion of a villain, who has the 
boldness to commit an evil deed; but not the courage to 
avow it. You cannot deny that a lady is now beside you,” 
exclaimed Robert Ashton ffiriously. 

“ Yes. Yes there is a lady shrinking up in the corner 
— we can see her, cried several voices; some of the by- 
standers having gone round to the other side of the carriage 
to look in. 

“Give up my sister, or receive the chastisement due to 
such villany,” shouted Robert half frantic with rage, shak- 
ing his whip with a threatening air. 

“You have done evil enough already. Hartley; consider 
the feelings of a brother, and make all the amends you 
can,” observed Lord Fitz Elwyn to his cousin, his con- 
tempt for his conduct plainly indicated by his manner. 


108 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ There has been no proof of evil against me yet,” re- 
plied Captain Hartley doggedly. 

“ There is the lady by your side,” cried Robert fiercely. 

“ Suppose that a lady has honored me with her company, 
you have not seen that lady’s face, therefore cannot know 
her name; and it is scarcely the act of a gentleman to alarm 
a female by such violence.” 

“ Let me see the lady,” demanded Robert endeavoring 
to look into the carriage, and again half staggered by the 
captain’s cool effrontery. 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Ashton; that would indeed show a 
want of feeling and delicacy towards the fair lady, who has 
honored me with her preference.” 

“A lady eloping with Captain Hartley must take the 
consequences; nothing else will satisfy me,” replied Robert 
resolutely. 

“ It is impossible, as a man of honor, that I can gratify 
your curiosity,” said Captain Hartley, still shielding his 
companion from observation, whose whispered pleadings 
were heard, but not understood by those on the other side 
of the carriage. 

“ Where is the honor in luring a young girl to leave her 
home and become his companion in a midnight flight, thus 
repaying the hospitality of her parents by bringing disgrace 
on their child? Will you swear that the lady is not my 
sister?” 

“ I answer no more impertinent questions, Mr. Ashton; 
and have already made more than sufficient allowance for 
your excitement, whether arising from wine or passion.” 

“You stir not till I have seen the lady; for see her I will, 
though at the risk of death to one or both of us,” shouted 
Robert, worked up to a state approaching frenzy by the cool 
and insulting manner of his opponent, seizing Captain 
Hartley, and attempting to drag him from the carriage as 
he spoke. 

“ Nay then, if it comes to that you must take the con- 
sequences,” exclaimed the captain, giving a loose to his 
anger, and thro\>4ng off his antagonist with a force which 
would have hurled him to the ground had he not staggered 
against Captain Wilder, who upheld him. 

“ Drive on!” shouted Captain Hartley again; but the 


THE QUIET HUSBANH, 


109 


horses could not have moved, had the postilions so willed, 
from the crowd of spectators now gathered round. 

“ Let me go! let me grapple with him!” cried Robert, 
bursting from Captain Wilder, and making a rush towards 
the carriage. 

“ Stop, stop! For heaven’s sake, stop! I have done 
wrong — let me return,” pleaded a female voice, in tones of 
passionate entreaty, broken by sobs. 

“ You are a fool!” muttered Captain Hartley, as the lady 
clung to his arm to prevent further violence, whilst Robert 
struggled with Captain Wilder, and an old friend of his 
father’s for freedom to make another attack. 

“ It is Sarah! I knew it was, base villain that you are! 
your life alone can atone for the insult, cried the frenzied 
Robert, breaking from those who would have detained him, 
and reaching the door by a desperate spring. 

“ No, no: I entreat — I implore you, Robert, I have done 
very wrong — I will — return — I will bear all the blame,” 
pleaded the sobbing, frightened girl. 

“I blush for you. Hartley. Detain Miss Sarah Ashton 
no longer: your bride would have no cause to rejoice in her 
lot,” observed Lord Fitz Elvvyn stepping between his cou- 
sin and the furious Robert. 

“ Nay, if the lady choose to go, let her depart; I detain 
no fair damsel against her will, though I might complain of 
her leading me into a course, which she had not the courage 
to pursue. Her own conduct absolves me from all further 
concealment,” replied Captain Hartley with unblushing 
effrontery, as he drew back to make room for the agitated 
girl to pass before him. 

It was Fitz Elvvyn who assisted her from the carriage, 
and supported her tottering steps when repulsed with a 
harsh rebuke by her brother, whose anger appeared little 
softened by her grief and penitence; — it was his voice that 
soothed her emotion with a father’s tenderness, as, pitying 
her distress, he led her into the house to save her from the 
staring and observations of the wondering crowd. Robert 
in his wrath thought more of shooting her lover, than saving 
his sister from a wretched marriage; and was far more en- 
raged at her having eloped with Fitz Elwyn’s cousin, than 
VoL. II.— 10 


no 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


touched by her bitter weeping and humble expressions of 
contrition. 

“ Let me go! I will not be withheld,” exclaimed Robert 
with the wild rage of a madman and much of a madman’s 
strength, struggling fiercely with those who held him back. 

But his struggles were vain. In obedience to a sign 
from Captain Wilder some of the bystanders closed in upon 
him, whilst others put up the carriage steps, and shut the 
carriage door. 

“ Drive on!” cried Mr. Lake, who had been drawn out 
of the house by the tumult. 

The crowd gave way — the post boys cracked their whips 
— and the horses, after a little curvetting, for they had been 
alarmed at the noise, set off at full speed. 

“1 demand satisfaction,” shouted the infuriated Robert, 
finding himself too strongly detained to be able to use the 
horse-whip as he had hoped. 

“You have had the satisfaction of making your sister 
the subject of public conversation, shouted back Captain 
Hartley in reply. 

It was some time before Captain Wilder and other friends 
could calm the fury of Robert Ashton, and induce him to 
give up the mad design of following Captain Hartley; in- 
deed it was only at last effected by binding him over to 
keep the peace, his wrath amounting so nearly to insanity, 
that none could venture to calculate on what his conduct 
might be if left at liberty to follow the dictates of his 
passion. 

“ You have had your own way gentlemen and shielded 
a villain from a brother’s just anger; and I cannot count 
you friends,” said Robert sulkily, as he left the room to 
seek his sister, followed by Captain Wilder and Mr. Lake, 
who feared his encountering Lord Fitz Elwyn in his present 
humor; but the viscount, after soothing the sobbing girl and 
persuading her to take a glass of wine, had delicately left 
the room into which he had conducted her, thinking she 
might find his presence painful. 

“ Degenerate girl! disgrace to your name and family!” 
was Robert’s address, advancing to the centre of the apart- 
ment his brows knit into a terrific frown. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Ill 


The frightened Sarah shrank into a corner of the sofa 
trembling in every limb, whilst her sobs broke forth afresh. 

“ Come, come, Robert; poor Sarah has suffered enough 
for her girlish fault,” pleaded the good natured Captain 
Wilder, who could never see a woman’s tears unmoved. 

“ Would you speak thus if Miss Wilder had run off with 
Edward?” questioned Robert sarcastically. 

Captain Wilder’s eye kindled with anger, for he had al- 
ready borne much from the furious speaker, making allow- 
ances for his provocation, and a cutting retort rose to his 
lips; but Sarah’s sobs and Mr. Lake’s warning touch, calmed 
down his wrath, and his answer was free from all irritating 
comment. 

“ Sarah is very young; and Captain Hartley an adept in 
deceit, which Edward would disdain to use.” 

“ Sarah is young; and that is her only’ excuse, though a 
very poor one; and if my mother take my advice she will 
turn her back to pinafores and tbe school-room. But a 
house filled with the partisans of my enemy is no place for 
us, so come along girl,” he added grasping the arm of his 
shrinking sister. 

“ What do y’ou purpose doing?” inquired Mr. ]/>ke. “If 
you will allow me, I will restore Miss Sarah Ashton to her 
family.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Lake; I neither understand, nor ad- 
mire the fancy you have shown of late for interfering in our 
affairs,” replied Robert sullenly. “ I will take her back 
myself.” 

“ I will order my carriage to be got ready directly for 
your use; by returning without further delay you may 
save your parents all anxiety,” said Captain Wilder. 

“ I will not give you that trouble sir, I take no horses 
from — I remain no longer in a house whose inhabitants are 
devoted to the interest of Captain Hartley’s cousin,” replied 
Robert haughtily, bidding Sarah put on her bonnet which 
was lying on the sofa beside her. 

“ Nay, Robert, Lord Fitz Elwyn behaved admirably, 
though you said enough to try his temper; and this has 
nothing to do with politics,” said Mr. Hare an old friend 
of the Ashtons, who having known Robert from his birth, 
had followed Captain Wilder in case his acknowledged in- 


112 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


fluence over the young man should be needed. “ I am a 
Tory as well as yourself, so there can be nothing in taking 
my advice. To go to a purple house at this time of night 
would only render more public, what, had you acted pru- 
dently, might have been kept private. Wilder’s carriage 
shall come to the back door, as soon as possible; and thus 
Sarah will escape being stared at.” 

“ A young lady who elopes cannot have much dread of 
that I should imagine. 'But it seems that I am not to have 
my way in any thing to-night, so arrange all as you please; 
only remembering that I feel no gratitude for the inter- 
ference.” 

“We ask no thanks,” said Captain Wilder, quitting the 
room with Mr. Lake to give the needful orders, leaving Mr. 
Hare to soothe the irritated young man into a more amiable 
temper. 

Mr. Hare’s success was very limited. Robert no longer 
uttered violent threats, but his sullen demeanor gave little 
proof of a gentler mood. 

On his way to the carriage, dragging rather than sup- 
porting his still weeping sister, he accidentally encountered 
Lord Fitz Flwyn. 

“ Your friends have prevented my inflicting on your 
cousin the chastisement he so well deserves; but 1 shall 
meet your lordship in the hall to-morrow, and will then 

ask the freeholders of the county of if they will have 

for their member one of a family who lure young girls 
from their parents’ protection.” 

“ I am ready to meet you when and where you please, 
Mr. Ashton,” replied the viscount, drawing himself up to 
his full height, and returning the speaker’s look of defi- 
ance. 

Mr. Hare stepped between, and Robert passed on with- 
out further comment. 

“ It is such a beautiful night that I will accompany 
you,” said Mr. Hare mounting to the dickey after closing 
the door on the brother and sister. 

“You must do as you like; 1 have no voice to-night,” 
replied Robert doggedly. 

It was long past eleven at Ashton Grove, and Mr. and 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


118 


Mrs. Ashton were in their first sleep, when the lady was 
roused by a knocking at her door. 

“ Come in,” said Mrs. Ashton, supposing it to be the 
maid, and scarcely knowing whether it was late or early. 

“ I wants to speak with master,” cried the hoarse voice 
of Flinter through the door. 

“ Bless me, Flinter! is that you? What is the matter? 
Is the house on fire, or have you caught Purcell’s pigs?” 
questioned Mrs, Ashton, starting up in bed. 

“ Hang- Purcell’s pigs!” exclaimed Flinter sotto voce, re- 
peating aloud — “ I wants to speak with master directly.” 

“ Mr. Ashton! Mr. Ashton, I say! Flinter wants to speak 
with you directly,” hollowed the lady into her husband’s 
ear, who had understood the whole of the conversation, 
but, according to his wont, was waiting to hear what would 
come next. 

“ What is the matter, Flinter?” demanded Mr. Ashton 
leisurely putting on his dressing gown, his wife echoing the 
question. 

“Make haste, make haste, sir!” answered Flinter, stamp- 
ing with impatience at the delay. 

“ Well, Flinter, what is the matter?” asked Mr. Ashton 
in his usual placid tone, as he opened the door, and stood 
fronting the impatient bailiff. 

“ Matter enough, sir! You don’t suppose I would make 
so bold as to knock at Missus’s door for nothing. As sure 
as a plough share Miss Sarah is off. The dog was rampa- 
geous so I got up, and walked round the house; and there 
was a ladder at Miss Sarah’s window, and the window 
open, and a light flaring; and so I made bold to mount the 
ladder, and, after calling on Miss Sarah, to step into her 
room; but there was no Miss Sarah there; and her things 
seemed scattered about as if she had pulled them out, and 
had not had lime to put them back again. As sure as a 
team, sir, she is, off with Captain Hartley, as I told you she 
would; though^yon laughed at my warning.” 

“ Good llea.i(eHs! and this is my doing, the effects of my 
indolence! And. gone with such a character!” exclaimed 
the shoclied and astonished father, staggering against the 
doorpost. 

' 10 * 


114 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Never stop to consider, sir, what has been done; but 
think what you can do,” cried Flinter, who was a man of 
energy, if not of words, and looked on his master’s inte- 
rest as his own. “ Do you dress as quick as you can, sir; 
and I will saddle the fastest horse in the stable; — it would 
take too much time to get the carriage out — Miss Sarah 
can’t have been gone long; and I know from Jem that Cap- 
tain Hartley is to pass through Nelthorpe, so by taking the 
short cut, you may overtake them yet. The Captain 
would not mind me, or J would go myself.” 

Mr. Ashton prepared to follow the honest bailiff’s ad- 
vice; but his indolence had grown upon him till any very 
great haste was beyond his power; and he was besides de- 
layed and bewildered by his curious wife who asked a thou- 
sand questions which he could not answer, and would fain 
have swathed him with a thousand wraps more fitted for 
January than August. 

When fairly beyond the clatter of Mrs. Ashton’s tongue 
with the night breeze playing on his brow, and a spirited 
horse beneath him the effects of the rude shock passed ra- 
pidly away, whilst a parent’s anxiety restored to him some 
of the energy of his youth. The horse was urged to its 
utmost speed; and the village was soon left far behind. * 

“ Is that you, Ashton?” shouted a gentleman from the 
dickey of a carriage, which he encountered a few. miles this 
side of Nelthorpe. 

“Yes, Hare, but I can not stop now,” replied agi- 
tated father, reining in his horse for an instant to give' him 
breath. 

“ If you seek your daughter, she is here with Robert, 
well and safe.” 

“ Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Mr. Ashton, the reins 
dropping from his hands, which were clasped in fervent 
gratitude. 

Mr. Hare got down, and drawing Mr. Ashton aside, ex- 
plained as briefly as possible all that had passed, pleading 
for indulgence towards Sarah, who seemed truly penitent; 
and engaging the father to use all his influence to soothe 
the anger of his son. 

This private conversation was broken off by Robert’s 
joining them. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


115 


“ I bring you back your daughter, sir, who is a disgrace 
to her name; and only regret that her base lover escaped 
unpunished, thanks to the interference of those, who call 
themselves your friends.” 

“ I am much obliged for that interference, Robert. My 
distress at my daughter’s elopement would only have been 
aggravated by any act of violence on her brother’s part; 
and the less that elopement becomes known, the better for 
all,” replied his father reprovingly. 

“ So, sfr, Mr. Hare has already won you over to his side* 

I see. But the elopement is known, and shall be known^ 
Lord Fitz Elwyn shall hear of it on the husting.” 

“ Not with my consent, Robert. Lord Fitz Elwyn should 
not be made answerable for the sins of his cousin; he did 
all that man could do, and his gentlemanly bearing through- 
out the election towards all his opponents demands equally 
courteous conduct from us. Your present temper is nei- 
ther befitting a brother, nor a Christian.” 

“ I am deeply wounded by the disgrace brought on my 
family by this elopement, if you call that an unbrotherly 
and unchristian feeling,” replied Robert sullenly, yet not 
daring to encounter his father’s rebuking look. 

“You are more angry than grieved, and that is why I 
condemn you. Sarah is very young; and I allowed her to 
see too much of Captain Hartley after having been warned 
of his character, so that part of the blame must rest with 
me and your mother, whose anxiety we should appease: 
as soon as possible.” 

“ Certainly, sir. You and Mr. Hare had better procov^di 
to Ashton Grove with all speed; and I will take your hors^e 
and return to Nellhorpe.” 

“No; do you ride on before to Ashton Grove, and calm 
your mother’s fears. We will take fresh horses at Sand- 
ford, and thus give Wilder’s time to rest, that they may be 
ready for Hare and you on your return.” 

Robert would have remonstrated, but Mr. Ashton for 
once was prompt and peremptory, so his son yielded, 
though with a bad grace, expending some portion of his 
displeasure on the poor horse; and a greater portion in so 
coloring the late occurrences, when relating them to hi 


116 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


mother, as to make it appear that Lord Fitz Elvvyii had 
known of, if not aided in the elopement. 

“I will remount the dickey; Sarah would rather be alone 
with you, I have no doubt,” said the considerate Mr. Hare. 

Sarah had gathered herself up in a corner of the carriage, 
compressed into as small a compass as possible. When 
her father entered she neither spoke nor looked up, but the 
deep heaving of her bosom showed how strongly she was 
agitated. 

“I will not add to your distress by severe comments, 
my child, since you already feel your error. I need not 
"say how deeply your conduct has pained me,” said Mr. 
Ashton mildly. 

Sarah raised her eyes; and by a gleam of moonshine 
'saw tears on her father’s cheek. She had made no reply 
lo her brother’s bitter reproaches— ^she had half begun to 
repent her return, fearing the reproofs she should receive 
from others; but her father’s tenderness could not be with- 
stood; that tenderness gave a deeper coloring of guilt lo her 
fault, and with a bitter cry she flung herself into bis arms, 
and burst into a passion of tears. 

“I have done very wrong — can you forgive me?” faltered 
the sobbing girl, as her father pressed her to his heart, his 
tears mingTing with hers. 

“ Yes, my child — fully — freely. I knew what Captain 
Hartley was; and yet I permitted you to be beguiled by 
his plausible manners; or at best I did not act as decidedly 
as I should have done. Part of the blame must rest with 
m©* 

“No, no; I alone am to blame,” cried Sarah more and 
more touched by this soothing kindness. “ I should not 
have listened to his vows — I should not have heeded his 
promises! you could never think — you could never believe 
that I should so far forget my duty. I felt all this as soon 
as I was in the carriage; but he would not let me return — 
he silenced my scruples by protestations of unchanging 
affection. You cannot forgive me; and what will my mo- 
ther say? I can never look her, and Emma, and Cecil in 
the face again!” exclaimed the sobbing Sarah, wringing her 
hands. 

Mr. Ashton saw that no reproof from others was needed 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


117 


— that her own conscience was a more bitter accuser than 
her worst foe; and he only sought to calm her anguish, 
which had been cruelly heightened by Robert’s threats. 

It was evident from some words dropped by her in her 
grief that Captain Hartley’s conduct since she had left her 
father’s house, particularly his behavior at the inn, had 
not raised him in her estimation; and Mr. Ashton was re- 
lieved from all fear of her ever again becoming the victim 
of his arts. With this conviction he had no hesitation, af- 
ter a few sage admonitions, in promising oblivion of the 
past on the part of himself and her mother; and the ardent 
gratitude of the humbled, penitent girl promised well for 
the future. 

For Mrs. Ashton to be in a fidget, or a vexation, and not 
fidget and vex others was out of the chapter of possibilities, 
so round she went to the whole family, rousing all with the 
account of the elopement — uttering a thousand wonderings 
and strange conjectures, till a serious misfortune was almost 
turned into a ludicrous adventure, so thoroughly ridiculous 
were some of her suppositions and lamentations. To re- 
main quiet in their rooms was out of the question: so the 
inmates of Ashton Grove assembled in the study, the win- 
dows of which overlooked the road to the house, watching 
for Mr. Ashton’s return. 

The intelligence brought by Robert was received with a 
general cry of thankfulness; and Mrs. Ashton’s gratitude hav- 
ing a littled subsided, she began to think more of scolding 
Sarah than of rejoicing in her safe return; but her husband 
spoke so decidedly concerning the promised forgiveness, and 
abstinence from all reproach, painting the culprit’s penitence 
in such moving terms, that his wife promised to receive 
her without even a reproving look, and when Mr. Ashton 
led the trembling girl into her presence really kept her pro- 
mise far better than could have been expected from one, 
who had so great a taste for talking and setting every one 
to rights. 

It was impossible to scold such a poor, broken-hearted 
creature; and all but Robert, who sat sullenly apart, re- 
ceived the weeping fugitive with more than their usual 
kindness. Emma and Cecil soon led her away to her own 


118 


THE QUIET HUSBANP. 


room, where they sat beside her, soothing and caressing her, 
Jill overcome by grief and fatigue, she sank into a heavy 
sleep. 

Sarah being restored to her home, it was time that Mr. 
Hare and Robert should think of returning to Nelihorpe, ia 
readiness for the nomination which was to take place at 
ten in the morning; for the stars were already growing pale 
in the lightening sky. 

Before their departure, Mr. Ashton again spoke to his 
son on the subject of his future demeanor towards Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, but Robert’s sullen replies and muttered de- 
nunciations were not only unsatisfactory but alarming, as 
showing a mood that would break out into open hostility 
with, or perhaps without the slightest provocation. Why 
^his son was so inveterate against the viscount he could not 
imagine, yet that he was so he could not doubt; but whe- 
ther that inveteracy was personal, or only political be could 
not determine. To argue the point seemed hopeless, for 
there was evidently some unassigned cause for anger, which, 
as the arguer could not divine, his arguments could not 
reach. All that was left was to lay his positive commands 
upon him to abstain from annoying Lord Fitz Elwyn in 
any way by look, word or act. 

“ Then, sir, I must break my word to Fleetwood, and 
disarrange his plans by not going to the nomination,” re- 
plied Robert doggedly. 

“ Better do that than offer insult to an honorable oppo- 
nent, who has done you no injury; but I see no necessity 
for breaking your word. No one can control their temper 
more resolutely than yourself, if you so choose.” 

“ Not when the fit is on me, as it now is.” 

“Then you must shake off the fit, which is worthy of 
reproof; for I lay my command upon you — the command of 
a parent, that you do nothing which can in any way annoy 
Lord Fitz Elwyn.” 

Robert longed to rebel; but there was a something so con- 
trolling in the decided tone and manner of his placid, and 
generally indulgent parent, that he looked away in silence, 
his own conscience turning witness against him. 

“ I do not often command you, Robert, not as often I fear 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


119 


as I should. You will not now deny me the obedience of 
a child.” 

“ No, sir, no. I submit, but it will be a hard struggle,” 
replied his son walking to the window. 

“The greater the temptation, the greater the merit of 
withstanding it. Seek strength from above; and you may— 
you will subdue that fitful temper, which so often obscures 
your better qualities, and make me tremble for your future 
fate.” 

“ Tremble for my future fate, sir! Oh never do that! — 
it will be after the usual fashion, I dare say — 

“ Born and wedded. 

Dead and buried,” 

exclaimed his son with a reckless gaiety, which pained his 
hearer. 

“ There is something in all this, Robert, that I do not 
understand,” said his father, approaching and striving to look 
into his averted face. 

“I am glad to hear that, my dear father; I would not for 
the world be like the child’s primer understood by every four 
year old. But what say you, sir, to going with me to the 
nomination, and keeping me in order by yoiir presence? 
I really doubt being a good boy without it.” 

This was a startling proposition to an indolent man; but 
Mr. Ashton had a fair excuse. 

“ No, Robert; you have given me your promise, and that 
once given I know I may rely upon you. My appearing 
at the nomination now, having before declined to do so, might 
seem an act of open hostility towards Lord Lind moor and 
his son, whom I acquit of all knowledge, or participation 
in their relative’s misconduct.” 

“ Well, sir, if you won’t — you won’t; and therefore, I 
may as well be off with Mr. Hare, that we may snatch what 
sleep we can. So good night, or rather good morning,” 
exclaimed Robert leaving the room in dudgeon, saying to 
himself as he crossed the hall, “ Who would have thought 
of his guessing my motive for wishing his presence at the 
nomination? But* perhaps he did not guess — it might be 
only his indolence after all.” 


120 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Poor Sarah was so wretched, notwithstanding the kind- 
ness of all her family, fancying reproach in looks and words 
where no reproach was intended, that it was thought better 
she should leave home for a time till the story had died 
away, and her own feelings become less sensitive; so on 
the following Monday she set off for the abode of her ma- 
ternal aunt, who resided in the neighboring county, escorted 
by Charles; Mrs. Ashton seeming to think that the election 
could not possibly proceed were she to be absent. 

Mr. Ashton was right in saying that he could rely on his 
son’s promise. Whatever hatred there might be in his 
heart towards Lord Fitz Elwyn, there was no open show 
of it in words or acts; but his avoidance of the viscount, and 
his cold, bare civility when they were accidentally thrown 
together, might be held as the token of more unfriendly 
feelings than were shown by deeds. Of course no allusion 
to the elopement was made in the county hall, and some 
hours of reflection, joined to his conversation with his father, 
had made Robert conscious of the imprudence and impro- 
priety of his late violent conduct, both as regarded himself, 
and his sister; but it was no longer in his power to bury the 
elopement in oblivion. 

We must all have remarked how greedily during an elec- 
tion every scandalous anecdote is seized on, amplified and 
exaggerated by the worthless of both parties to bring re- 
proach on their opponents; and though the delicacy and 
honor of the two candidates, as we have already said, 
checked this disgraceful taste for slander in a great degree, 
still it was impossible for the heads to keep their tails within 
the desired bounds. An elopement — and such an elope- 
ment — at such a lime was loo good and legitimate a subject 
for abuse and ridicule to be passed over in silence, or omit- 
ted in print and chalk, so, even on the following morning 
before the nomination, squibs headed “ The elopement,” 
were passing from hand to hand of those who could read 
fluently — spelt on the walls by those who knew little more 
than their letters; and chalked on houses, doors, and gates 
by the idle and the mischievous. 

What gave greater notoriety to the subject, rendering it 
less likely to die away, was its being seized on by both 
parties as a source of annoyance to their adversaries; the 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


121 


blues throwing all the blame and ridicule on the Ashtons, 
whilst the purples did the same on the Lindmoors, each 
inventing or improving falsehoods, which greatly heightened 
the scandal; so that the squibs were not only in pale blue 
letters; but also in deep purple, whilst the cries of the con- 
tending parties were equally contradictory. 

“ Where is the brave Captain who carried off the young 
lady, and then ran away himself?” shouted the purples. 

“ Where is the young lady who took in the gallant offi- 
cer, got him to elope with her; and then left him in the 
lurch?” re-shouted the blues. 

“ Who drove off as fast as he could, for fear of a horse- 
whipping?” inquired a loud voiced purple. 

“ Who pretended to be in a passion, and coaxed his 
friends to bind him over to keep the peace, lest he should 
be forced to stand a shot?” replied an equally shrill-voiced 
blue. 

Then there were caricatures of Robert in his passion — 
the captain in his coolness — and Sarah in her tears, of 
every possible size and description, with the addition of 
Lord Fitz Elwyn and Captain Wilder looking very stately, 
and noble, or very hot and ridiculous, according to the par- 
tialities of the caricaturists. 

Robert was so enraged at these insulting shouts that in his 
fury he would have attacked a whole band of blues, had not 
Mr. Hare, who purposely kept beside him, grasped his arm, 
at the same time representing the prudence of passing over 
such attacks in silence, as the best chance of the occurrence 
being sooner forgotten; adding a hint that but for his frantic 
violence of the night before the elopement might not have 
become the subject of general conversation. 

“ True,” replied Robert, conscience-stricken, but not 
humbled, clenching his fist till the nails entered his flesh. 

And yet whilst acknowledging the truth of the accusa- 
tion, he panted to fix a quarrel on Fitz Elwyn, scarcely 
withheld by his promise to his father from so doing; and 
so strange and savage was his mood throughout the day that 
he bitterly reproached Mr. Fleetwood for not stopping these 
painful allusions, a thing absolutely beyond his power to 
effect. 

To Edward the spuibs and cries were still more distress- 

VOL. II. — II 


122 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ing, save that he had no violence wherewith to reproach 
himself, and felt more pain than anger, a pain alleviated, as 
far as it could be, by the watchful kindness of Lord Fitz 
Elwyn, who said and did all that the truest friend, or most 
affectionate brother could have said or done. His cheek 
was flushed and his head bowed, when the hateful cries first 
reached his ear; and even Lord Lindmoor, who had been 
much irritated by the report of Robert’s angry accusation, 
was so touched by Edward’s shame and sorrow, that he 
showed him marked attention, and condescended to express 
his deep regret and displeasure at his nephew’s share in the 
elopement. 

It was amidst these varying shouts and feelings that the 
doors of the hall were thrown open to admit the freeholders 
to the nomination, which differed too little from other nomi- 
nations to require a circumstantial detail. 

The high sheriff made the usual address, and usual re- 
quest that every speaker should obtain a fair hearing. The 
Earl of Barringham and a Mr. Lander proposed and second- 
ed Lord Fitz Elwyn, in neat and appropriate speeches, as 
the papers announced; and another earl and another landed 
gentleman did ditto by Mr. Fleetwooci, amid the applauses 
of their friends, and the hisses of their opponents. Then 
Lord Fitz Elwyn addressed the assembled freeholders in a 
manly and eloquent speech, which was much applauded by 
his friends, and listened to with tolerable patience by his 
adversaries; and then Mr. Fleetwood did the same with the 
same success, as w'as asserted by the “County Advertiser,” 
and the “ County Chronicle.” 

The show of hands was nearly equal, but the hiffh 
sheriff, after a very particular scrutiny, pronounced the 
majority to be in favor of Lord Fitz Ehvyn, wdiich said an- 
nouncement was received with deafening shouts by the 
blues, and hisses and hootings by the purples, who, accord- 
ing to the custom of losers, accused the sheriff of par- 
tiality. The friends of Mr. Fleetwood demanded a poll, 
and the election was fixed to take place on the succeeding 
Monday. 

'File rival candidates bowed to each other with all gentle- 
manly courtesy before quitting the hall; and their several 
adherents promised thereupon to perform impossibilities in 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


123 


behalf of their respective favorites, whilst bands of idle 
non-voters, purple and blue, paraded the streets, deafening 
the good people of Nelthorpe with their discordant shouts, 
and occasionally indulging themselves in a little skrimmage. 
Yet on the whole, thanks to the care of the leaders, it was 
considered a very orderly mob for an election; and all ad- 
mitted that the contest was carried on with less ill blood 
than usual on such occasions. 

Robert^Ashton’s fist was again clenched at the sheriff’s 
announcement in favor of Lord Fitz Elwyn, though he 
could not in his heart accuse him of partiality, and a mut- 
tered — “ He shall not win,” burst through his set teeth; a 
mutter so fierce that his next neighbor looked upon him, as 
timid men look on a madman. 


134 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

However energetic Mr. Ashton might have shown him- 
self in reclaiming his daughter,’ or calming his son, the 
lapse of a short lime fully proved that energy was not his 
characteristic; activity was his strange work, not his daily 
occupation. He had promised to support Mr. Fleetwood, 
and Robert being too much engaged to come over in person 
had written very strongly, urging him to vote on the first 
day, as being a more handsome course towards the young 
candidate; but in spite of that letter, and in spite of his 
wife’s constant worrying, for her persuasions really amount- 
ed to that, he put off his visit to Nelthorpe till the second 
day, and even then started so late that Mrs. Ashton predict- 
ed the closing of the poll before his arrival. The indolent 
habits of long years cannot be broken through by an indo- 
lent man in a minute; he may be excited into temporary 
energy, but the excitement past, he sinks into his former 
lethargy, like the boa gorged with his meal. His daugh- 
ter’s elopement, partly the effect of his own negligence, 
had shown him the evil of his indolence; and be deter- 
mined to struggle with his natural love of quiet and pro- 
crastination; but, unhappily, like loo many others con- 
scious of error he deferred the struggle till some fqture lime, 
excusing himself in the present instance on account of his 
repugnance to vote against Lord Fitz Elwyn, whose deli- 
cate attention to Sarah, related by the grateful girl, had 
raised him still higher in his esteem. To give his vole the 
first day might seem like putting himself forward against 
the viscount; — then, by some unforeseen chance, that day 
might end the contest, and thus he w'ould be spared the 
voting against him at all. To be sure, as his wife would 
have said, Mr. Fleetwood the son of an old friend, might 
feel hurt at his backwardness, but then every body knew 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


125 


that he hated a bustle, and always kept clear of politics; and 
so he deferred recording his vote till circuinstaiutes gave that 
vote an importance which would not have attached to it had 
it been given earlier. 

At the close of the first day’s poll Mr. Fleetwood had a 
majority of ten; and his party, who were in high spirits, 
redoubled their efforts to increase that majority; and among 
his party none were so zealous — none worked so hard as 
Robert Ashton. 

“ I shall owe my election principally to you. How can 
I thank you!” said Mr. Fleetwood, shaking his hand with 
an energy that showed how much in spite of his outward 
courtesy to his rival he panted to defeat him. 

So said Mr. Fleetwood — so said his friends — delighted at 
the fiery zeal of the whig proselyte; but Robert turned 
from their praise with a crimson blush and a sinking heart. 
He did not deserve their praise — he cared not that Mr. 
Fleetwood should win — he only toiled that Lord Fitz 
Elwyn should lose. His moving motive was neither 
friendship nor patriotism. 'riie triumph of his party 
would only bring shame to him, for he was still a whig at 
heart; yet his vote was recorded for the tory candidate — 
his time was at the disposal of -the tory committee. Had 
any other started in opposition to Mr. Fleetwood but Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, his vote and his time would have been given 
to tlial other. A smile was on his lip; but the vulture of 
remorse was at his heart, and he had neither the courage, 
nor the generosity to avow his error, and free himself from 
its gnawing; — it was eating his strength and life away, but 
he would bear it. 

If Mr. Fleetwood’s party were urged to great exertions 
by their majority. Lord Fitz Elwyn’s were urged to still 
greater efforts by the smallness of that majority, which was 
in itself a triumph, the county having been hitherto con- 
sidered decidedly tory; so that the endeavors of both were 
pushed to the utmost from the continued doubtfulness of the 
issue, party spirit waxing hotter at each fresh account. 

For some hours the victory wavered from blue to purple, 
and purple to blue, as the accounts from the different polling 
places came in, the majority on either side being so small 
that the contest at last partook of the excitement of gambling 

11 * 


126 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


for a large stake. At three o’clock, as well as could be 
ascertained, the blues were two ahead; and the election had 
been carried on with so much spirit, that nearly all the free- 
holders had voted, and the polling flagged so considerably 
that a quarter of an hour elapsed witliout a vote being re- 
corded; and then came in the probably final account from 
two neighboring towns, that lessened the majority of the 
blues to one; and it was just at this moment, whilst the 
purples were shouting like mad at the announcement; and 
the blues shouting back as if madder still, that poor, quiets 
peaceable, Mr. Ashton, who hated politics and a mob, as 
the unholy hate the holy, tried to make his way up a crowd- 
ed street towards the principal polling booth, which was 
close to the hustings, that way being blocked up by the 
clamorous crowd increasing every moment in the hope of 
hearing the issue of the struggle which must be so soon 
decided. 

Mr. Ashton being blessed with one of the most placid of 
tempers was not likely to get into a quarrel — being tall, 
stood little chance of being run over or trodden down; and 
being fearless was not alarmed by the angry cries of the 
jostling multitude; but, beyond these, he had no requisite 
for piercing through a dense mass of human bodies. Pa- 
tience which was his grand specific for overcoming diffi- 
culties, was comparatively of little use to him in his present 
situation. The whole of the square, in the centre of which 
stood the hustings and principal polling booth was nearly 
as crowded as the space around him, and thus he had no 
chance of being carried on by the populace to the spot he 
sought to reach; and to move forward singly where all 
were jammed so closely, required a far more energetic 
effort than he was inclined to make; so there he remained, 
leaving every thing to chance, whilst the chiming of the 
various clocks showed the lapse of time, swayed backwards 
and forwards by the crowd: now annoyed by a very short 
man creeping under his arms — and then by a very tall one 
leaning over his shoulder; whilst his feet were trodden on 
by tall and short, males and females, for there were females 
in the crowd, and with babies in their arms too, according 
to the custom of an English mob. 

Talk of patience on a monument! Mr. Ashton thought it 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


127 


was nothing to patience in a crowd, which was in his opin- 
ion far more deserving of immortality at the poet’s hand, or 
rather from the poet’s pen. 

'J'he cheers and the counter cheers on the declaration that 
the blues had only a majority of one died away at length, 
but the comparative calm and silence neither aided nor hin- 
dred Mr. Ashton in his purpose of advance, for utterly un- 
used, as we have said, to mobs and elections, he never per- 
ceived that the two parties had by tacit consent taken oppo- 
site sides of the street, the more violent of both contending in 
the centre, the more quiet keeping to the pavement; and 
failed to observe the distinctive badges of blue and purple 
worn by all, till his attention was painfully drawn to the 
fact by the notice beginning to be bestowed on the enormous 
rosette of the latter color, w'hich had been tied into his but- 
ton hole by his careful spouse. Whether she thought the 
size of his rosette would increase the value of his vote and 
be considered a convincing proof of his zeal for the tories 
we know not, but certain it is that there was not such ano- 
ther rosette in all Nellhorpe; and as he had unluckily and 
unconsciously got into the midst of the blue current, this 
token of extra zeal, for so it was looked on, seemed likely 
to lead him into difficulty. As long as the people found a 
possibility of moving forward they only looked before them; 
but when their further advance was stopped by the density 
of the inass in front, and the chiming clocks gave warning 
that a whole quarter of an hour must still elapse ere the vic- 
tor could be proclaimed, they began to look about at their 
neighbors in the laudable hope of finding something where- 
with to amuse themselves in the intermediate time, and a 
source of amusement was soon found in Mr. Ashton’s enor- 
mous purple cockade. 

At first his immediate neighbors contented themselves 
with sly looks and mocking gibes and jests; from these 
they proceeded to ruder demonstrations, shoves and thumps, 
and ugly names, till Mr. Ashton began to think that he 
should be left without even the poor defence of patience. — 
*The mocks and shoves in spite of his placid remonstrances 
grew ruder and ruder; he was bade to go to the purples, in 
no very delicate or elegant terms, yet so closely hemmed in 
that to cross the street without assistance was impossible; 


128 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


and the idea of calling on the purples within hearing for aid 
and protection never entered his imagination. He was thus 
rudely handled by the uncivil blues, who resented his pre- 
sence among them with such an enormous purple cockade 
as an intended insult, his situation becoming every moment 
more disagreeable and dangerous, when he was happily es- 
pied by Robert, who, knowing the value of every vote, had 
gone to the inn at which he was in the habit of putting up 
to inquire the cause of his delay; and having ascertained 
from his servant which course he had taken was now making 
his way up the principal street, those by whom it wss oc- 
cupied crowding together to let him pass on seeing the 
badge of a committee man. To look down on the crowd 
was the only chance of recognising his father, and for that 
purpose he ran up into the drawing-room of a house with 
whose inmates he was acquainted. 

'I'he bustle caused by the jostling of poor Mr. Ashton nat- 
urally attracted his attention; and great was his joy at the 
prospect of bringing him up in time to record his vole, and 
yet some moments of that precious time were wasted in 
moralising on his father’s situation. 

As a partisan he was outrageous at the insolence of the 
blues — as a son be would have felt anger at any insult of- 
fered to his parent — but as a lively, active young man, not 
all his filial duty could check a laugh at thus seeing his 
quiet father, quiet almost to Quakerism, pushed to and fro 
as a large ball, his wonderful stock of patience still unex- 
hausted. 

“ He should have been here before and then this would- 
not have happened,” was his first thought; his second was 
to extricate him from his perilous yet ludicrous predicament, 
and conduct him to the poll. 

He was on the point of encouraging his father with a pro- 
mise of succor, and then descending to head the purples in 
a determined dash for his rescue, when his gaze accidentally 
fell on Lord Filz Elwyn and another gentleman, working 
their way slowly but securely up the blue line towards the 
square. 

His eye kindled; — such an opportunity was not to be lost. 
Here were grounds for charging his lordship, through his 
party, with being the encourager of tumult, and this was 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


129 


enough for Robert, who never considered that should the 
charge be met by the viscount with his usual generosity 
and high feeling, it would only bring honor instead of shame 
on the head of his foe. 

“ Is it thus that the whigs treat their opponents, Lord 
Fitz Elwyn? Hundreds of unmannerly ruffians setting on 
one quiet man, a gentleman revered by all the county, and 
that too when on his way to give his vote? But that last is 
the reason; you would by violence prevent his voting. — 
Aware that you must lose the election by fair means, you 
would win it by foul; knowing the value of a single vote, 
you would hinder that vote from being given,” shouted Ro- 
bert Ashton, adding as he saw that he had attracted his 
lordship’s attention, “ I warn you that if a hair of my fa- 
ther’s head be hurt, or if you delay him till the closing of the 
poll, a statement of every circumstance shall be laid before 
the public, and the parliament, and Viscount Fitz Elwyn be 
deprived of his seat. Form my good purples! form on the 
instant; and I will come down to head you in rescuing my 
father, whose vote, if we»can save him from the savage blues, 
may turn the tide in our favor.” 

“ Keep your men back, Mr. Robert Ashton! licep them 
back if you would not have bloodshed,” answered Lord 
Fitz Elwyn in a clear and commanding tone; understand- 
ing the whole in a moment, and judging from the mutter- 
ing of those around him, who were now aware of the value 
of their before underrated visitor, that they would not be 
sorry under the excuse of a row to prevent the recording of 
his vote. “ Your appeal would have been quite as effec- 
tive if more gently and courteously worded; and Mr. Ash- 
ton might be sure of my assistance for his own sake. I 
will protect him with my life; and should his vote be un- 
happily too late, which I trust will not be the case, I will 
yield my seat to my rival if that vote would have entitled 
him to it. Do you pass up your line to the head of the 
street; and I will guard your father up this side, but make 
no rush that may lead to violence; stir not passions already 
too warm, or the consequences must rest with you.” 

This proceeding was not at all in accordance with Ro- 
bert’s views, since it left the palm of honor to his enemy, 
for as such he counted him; yet there was no time for re- 


130 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


monstrance or refusal; lie too had lieard the muttered 
threats of violence towards his father; but before he could 
answer, Lord Fitz Elwyn had sprung among the crowd 
towards Mr. Ashton, followed by his friend, who was strong 
and active as himself. 

There were some moments of wavering to and fro among 
the mob — some more muttered threats; and then Robert 
saw his father hemmed in with foes as before, but linked 
arm in arm with the viscount and his friend. He bit his 
lip with vexation at his parent’s owing his safety to the man 
he hated; but that safety was not as yet assured, for some 
rude, ill-looking men still seemed inclined to outrage, if out- 
rage alone could slop the important vote; and their hasty 
exclamations that they should otherwise lose the election 
were beginning to gain followers to their opinion. 

“ Listen to me, my good people,” said Lord Fitz Elwyn, 
taking off his hat, and speaking with mingled gentleness 
and resolution, whilst there was a hush among the multi- 
tude all eager to catch his words. “ You are all my friends 
— you all wish me well; and I most heartily thank you for 
your good will, and your good services. I shall feel proud 
of becoming your representative; but if that honor can 
only be won by violence and wrong I shall be ashamed to 
claim it, and you should be ashamed to grant it. We have 
a good cause, and deserve success, though we may not win 
it, do not let us stain it by injustice! Let not our oppo- 
nents have the right to tax ns with evil! You have all ex- 
ercised your high privilege of voting, or if you have not 
all votes now, 1 hope you will see prosperous days and gain 
that right by the next election; and it is not an Englishman’s 
nature to deny an adversary, and such an adversai;y, a simi- 
lar privilege. Live, and let live! vote, and let vote! should 
be an Englishman’s motto, and shall be ours. So make 
a path for me my good friends; and let us show the pur- 
ples that one of their voters may pass from one end of our 
line to the other without reproach or injury.” 

He was a perfect picture as he stood there — his hat off, 
the sun-beams resting on his noble brow and blackly waving 
hair — so animated — so full of life — every feature glowing 
with high and generous feeling. There was a minute’s 
silence as he paused, all listening breathlessly to catch an- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


131 


Other word; ao(] then arose a murmur of applause that deep- 
ened into a mighty shout, which seemed to rend the skies. 
The voice of whig and tory, blue and purple, mingled in 
that admiring hurrah, which struck as an arrow to the heart 
of Robert Ashton. He could not deny his foe esteem; and 
it was that which galled him. 

Five minutes since, and even their favorite candidate stood 
some chance of ill treatment, if not of being torn to pieces; 
and now he was the admired of all admirers, his praise on 
the lips of all — his name the burden of their echoing shouts. 
Even the purples regretted among themselves that they 
could not have him for their second member; and as to the 
blues, they would at that moment have followed him to 
death at the mere upholding of his finger. 

They libel an English mob who say that they have no 
sympathy with high and generous feeling; and that they 
can not be as easily, nay more easily turned to good than 
evil. Woe to those who take advantage of distress and 
temporary excitement to lead them on to wrong! who prate 
of sympathy, only to mislead, and use their eloquence to 
dress up sin in the guise of virtue, till the understandihg of 
the simple become confounded. There are few breasts 
which contain not some note of good, that it heeds but 
touch with a skilful hand to bring forth harmony instead 
of discord. 

Lord Fitz Elwyn’s progress to the top of the street was 
more like the triumphant march of a conqueror than the 
mere passing of a youthful candidate towards the hustings, 
for all made way before him, and all gazed after him with 
admiring eyes. His kindly words and his kindly smile, as 
he passed along to those whom he knew; and his gracious 
requests and gracioust thanks to those whom he did not, 
who stepped aside to leave him compressed, as they were, 
as large a space as possible, went far to increase his popu- 
larity. It was not the mere courtesy of an ambitious candi- 
date — it was the kindness of a warm and feeling heart. 

It w'as with some difficulty, though among his friends, 
and wearing his committee badge, that Robert could keep 
pace with Lord Fitz Elwyn; but by strenuous exertions he 
did succeed in joining him and his father at the end of the 
street. 


132 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ I see you are not used to crowds, and I am very sorry 
that you should have been so much inconvenienced. Make 
one push more, and you will be at the entrance of the poll- 
ing booth,” said the viscount to Mr. Ashton, a half smile 
curling his lip as he remarked for the first time the staring 
purple cockade. 

“ I owe you many thanks,” began Mr. Ashton, wishing 
to pause for breath. 

“ There is no lime for thanks now; you must push on or 
it will be too late,” observed Robert abruptly. 

“You speak sagely; time wanes,” replied Lord Fitz 
Elwyn. “ Do you coax the purples, whilst I persuade the 
blues to clear us a road through their dense ranks; the gene- 
ral approach is from the other side of the square, and con- 
cluding the polling to be over, the police I see are far less 
active than they were this morning.” 

They did push on; and by dint of entreaty, command, 
and hard labor, gained the entrance of the booth just as a 
messenger was seen making his way towards the same 
spot from another direction. 

The crowd who made way for him gathered his news, 
and the shouts and counter shouts told that another vote 
had been given to the purples, making the numbers equal. 
Should this news be correct, Mr. Ashton’s vote would 
insure victory to Mr. Fleetwood. Lord Fitz Elwyn’s brow 
was clouded as he thought of this; but he made no remark 
and followed Mr. Ashton, who was almost dragged into the 
booth by his impetuous son. 

“A thousand, thousand thanks! You are just in time!” 
cried Mr. Fleetwood, making way for him up to the polling 
clerk, who had scarcely recorded his vote, ere the clocks of 
half the churches in Nelthorpe proclaimed the termination 
of the contest. 

“ He has lost it!” said Robert in a thrilling tone, that 
proved a deeper feeling than that of the mere partisan. 

“ Hurrah! hurrah! Ashton’s vote has given usThe vic- 
tory! The tories have gained the day; and you are our 
member, Fleetwood;” cried one of that gentleman’s eager 
friends. ° 

“ Yes; I owe you countless thanks, Mr. Ashton,” ex- 
claimed the new member, his eyes dancing with joy, press- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


133 


ing Mr. Ashton’s hand with a force meant to proclaim the 
strength of his gratitude. 

But Mr. Ashton did not receive these thanks in the spirit 
in which they were offered. Bewildered by the jostling 
of the crowd, and the haste with which he had been hurried 
forvs^rd, he had not clearly understood how much depended 
on his vote; and it was only from Robert’s almost fiendish 
glance of triumph, and the ardent thanks of Fleetwood and 
his zealous friends, and the sudden turning away of Lord 
Fitz Elvvyn that he fully comprehended how his voice had 
turned the scale; and turned it too against the very man, 
who had so lately defended him from the rudeness of the mob. 

To his own generosity was Lord Fitz Elwyn indebted 
for defeat. The sympathy of Mr. Ashton was rather with 
the vanquished, than the victor. 

“ I am very sorry,” he began, approaching the viscount. 

“ Oh! never mind apologies for delay, since your vote 
has proved of such immense importance now,” exclaimed 
his son, interrupting him. 

“ No, no; you are the very prince of good fellows! The 
king of trumps, the emperor of voters,” cried the rejoiced 
tories, crowding round him with vociferous thanks, congra- 
tulations, warm shaking of hands; whilst before he could 
free himself from these unwelcome demonstrations. Lord 
Fitz Elwyn had left the booth. 

“ What a bold man to make your way singly through 
the blues, who nearly pulled you to pieces I hear. I de- 
clare the purples shall give you three cheers as you go out,” 
cried one. 

“ Your coming up at the critical moment was a splendid 
coup de theatrel You are decidedly the hero of the elec- 
tion,” cried another. 

“I owe my victory entirely to you, Mr. Ashton; and 
hope you suffered no injury in making your way up,” said 
Mr. Fleetwood, shaking hands a second time. 

“ No wonder you were hustled. What could induce 
such a quiet man as you to sport such an immense cock- 
ade?” asked Mr. Hare. 

“Is it immense? I never thought of that; my wife put 
it in,” replied Mr. Ashton, for the first time remarking the 
waste of purple ribbon at his button hole. 

VoL. IL— 12 


134 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Ay, ay; it is the good old tory color — we can’t have too 
much of il,” said another. 

Mr. Ashton would have related Lord Fitz Elwyn’s inter- 
ference, and done justice to his generous gallantry; but he 
found it hopeless to endeavor to make himself heard or 
understood amid the laughter at his large cockade, and the 
loud congratulations of the overjoyed lories, whose spirits 
naturally rose in proportion to their former depression. He 
would have told Lord Lindmoor how much he considered 
himself indebted to his son, but the earl turned away with 
a chilling bow; and poor Mr. Ashton, deprived of all power 
of resistance, was condemned to hear himself proclaimed 
as the cause of the success of the purples, and charged with 
having withheld his vote to the last moment to make his zeal 
for their principles more striking. 

It was of no use to comment on the want of fact and 
philosophy in such a belief; it would have been in vain to 
assert and prove that in common sense no one vote could be 
considered of more importance than another, and that the 
first contributed to the result as much as the last; the lories 
were determined to do high honor to Mr. Ashton, and lie 
found himself, poor, quiet man, a hero nialgre liti. His 
name was honored with three loud cheers — the people de- 
clared their intention of bearing him on their shoulders to 
his inn — the lories nearly wrung off his hand to demonstrate 
their regard; whilst the whigs, never suspecting that he was 
a hero malgre lui, looked on him coldly, if not reprovingly. 
For such a quiet man to make himself so conspicuous was 
in their eyes a proof of political favor. 

Even Captain Wilder’s greeting was constrained, and 
Edward’s grave; whilst some spoke openly of his injustice 
towards Lord Fitz Elwyn, and hinted a wish that the vis- 
count had not interfered. Poor Mr. Ashton! Every cold 
or scowling look — every hinted reproach wounded him 
deeply; and he who so seldom saw or heard any thing 
passing round him, now appeared to have sight and hearing 
quickened to a painful sensitiveness. And all this was 
caused by his own indolent delay. Had he voted the day 
before no one would have thought any thing of it. Here 
was one of the effects of procrastination. It was a severe 
lesson; and he never forgot it. 


THE dUIET HUSBAND. 


135 


As llie final accounts from the other towns were not yet 
received, with only a bare majority, the victor and the van- 
quished might yet change places, or the numbers be equal; 
but no: those accounts came in, and Mr. Fleetwood was 
declared the sitting member by a majority of one. 

A majority of one! 

The defeated party on such occasions always feel their 
defeat more keenly, and entertain more bitterness towards 
their adversaries, and Mr. Ashton was again condemned 
to hear himself lauded and blamed; praise and censnre being, 
in the present instance, alike distressing. 

“ I have not had time to thank you, Robert, yet. I owe 
you a great deal,” said Mr. Fleetwood, encountering his 
zealous committee man in the square. 

“ Psha, Fleetwood! never waste thanks on me! No one 
pays gratitude now-a-days; and I am inclined to think no 
one deserves it. But how came you here? I thought you 
and Fitz Elwyn were to give a palaver to the electors.” 

So we are; but I want to get speech of my servant 
first, as I may not have time afterwards.” 

“You will not have time now, for your man is a quarter 
of a mile off, mingled in with the blues; and has no idea 
of making his way in a crowd. What do you wish to say 
to him? Perhaps I may be able to reach him.” 

“ 1 desire no concealment from such a zealous friend as 
yourself; and, of course, you must have guessed my feel- 
ings,” replied Mr. Fleetwood coloring and embarrassed. 
“ The fact is, I want to gallop off with the promised bou- 
quet to Miss Clare, which is left with the landlady of the 
White Hart. He was to have his horse ready saddled and 
be wailing here that I might speak to him; I should be 
vexed if Miss Clare heard of my victory from any other 
than my messenger.” 

“ I will bear your message,” exclaimed Robert, eagerly, 
a wild gleam coming into his eye as he spoke. “1 shall 
ride faster than Dick.” 

“A thousand thanks! You are a real friend!” cried the 
grateful lover. “ But it is a long ride.” 

“Nothing to me. Any message? I am off on the in- 

6tant,” 


136 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“Yes; tell her — tell her — but no; I will tell her all that 
myself, only say that her flower has been worn next my 
heart — that I attribute my triumph to her kind wishes; and 
only prize the honor as it may win me greater favor in her 
sight.” 

“ A very proper message for a newly elected member. 
I wonder what your constituents would say to your only 
prising the honor as a cause for favor in a lady’s eyes’” 
said Robert with such bitter sarcasm in look and tone that 
Mr. Fleetwood’s cheeks rivalled in color the crimson roses 
of his bouquet. 

“NonseMse, Robert; you know I am a lover as well as 
an M. P., but if you do not like to take the message only 
say that I hope to see her to-morrow, and lay my laurels 
at her feet.” 

“Oh! I will deliver every word, and tone — if I can. 
Then I shall have to offer my congratulations to the lover 
as well as the member I suppose.” 

“I hope so!” 

The approach of a friend, to say that his presence was 
needed elsewhere, prevented more last messages. 

“You hope so! And what are hopes? The cheating 
dreams of fools and madmen! And love! — What is love 
but a fraudulent bankrupt, making a show of much worth 
to win customers, and leaving its deluded creditors to en- 
dure the galling pangs of penury? And friendship! — is not 
friendship a greater cheat than both?” 

Such were the thoughts that passed rapidly through Ro- 
bert’s mind, characterising the expression of his features, 
as he stood without moving where Fleetwood had left him. 

“Are you ill, sir?” asked a compassionate bystander, 
struck with his look of agony. 

“111? oh! no thank you: quite well — never better,” an- 
swered Robert with a forced laugh, beginning to win his 
way through the crowd. 

“May I trouble you to let me pass, Lord Fitz Elwyn; 
and to desire your friends to leave me a path,” said Robert, 
encountering the viscount, who having heard that the dis- 
appointed blues were ripe for a row, urged thereunto by 
the taunts of the triumphant purples, had gone with a friend 
to coax them into good humor. “ I should not ask your 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


137 


services a second time in one day, but that I go on a mes- 
sage to a lady. Mr. Fleetwood makes me the bearer of 
the splendid bouquet that is to proclaim his success to Miss 
Clare, in return for the single flower of his color which he 
received from her, and wore as her favor during the con- 
test.” 

‘‘Oh! certainly: — pray tell Miss Clare that I would on 
no account delay her messenger, when speeding on such 
an errand. Selwyn,” addressing one of his followers, 
“ will you see this gentleman beyond our men?” replied 
the viscount, meeting the speaker’s look of malicious 
triumph with a proud and steady gaze. 

“Thank you, my lord; your words shall be duly re- 
ported,” replied Robert, passing on with a mock show of 
grateful courtesy, whilst the viscount hastened towards the 
hu^ngs. 

The palaver, as Robert Ashton had called it, took place 
according to immemorial custom; but we decline giving the 
speeches of the candidates and their friends: enough that 
they were reported at full length in the County Chronicle, 
and County Advertiser, which being of different politics, 
an eager seeker after truth by reading both may hope to 
arrive at a just conclusion concerning the quantum of elo- 
quence displayed therein. The partisans on both sides 
compared their respective favorites to Chatham, Burke, 
Fox, Pitt, Canning, and Sheridan; to say nothing of 
Brougham and Peel, Cicero and Demosthenes, whilst the 
more sober and peaceably inclined praised the one for re- 
pressing the triumph of his party, the other for soothing 
the irritation of his; both earnestly ijnploring their adhe- 
rents to keep quiet and orderly. 

There was no symptom of personal rivalry or rancor to 
be traced in the words of the two candidates; but on the 
contrary a chivalric courtesy; cold, and lofty perhaps, but 
still perfect in all its bearings, as far as it went; and if none 
but their most hot-headed followers considered them likely 
to eclipse the fame of Cicero or Demosthenes, all agreed 
that they had rarely heard more promising maiden speeches. 
If Lord Fitz Elwyn showed more fire and enthusiasm, car- 
rying his listeners with him, willy riilly; Mr. Fleetwood 
12 * 


138 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


showed a greater knowledge of the interests and capabilitieiS 
of the county, particularly its agricultural parts. 

There was some rumor of a petition, since disqualifying 
two votes would displace the present triumphant member; 
but it was only a rumor, for Lord Lindmoor and his son 
were delicate as to putting their friends to further expense; 
and the latter stood so high in general estimation, that the 
opinion rose and strengthened, that on the death or resigna- 
tion of the old member, whose health was very precarious, 
^ the viscount would be elected without opposition. 

The earl expressed his disappointment more openly than 
his son; but it was clear that the viscount was deeply wound- 
ed, though he said little or nothing. Whilst speaking he 
showed no symptom of fatigue or indisposition, mind keep- 
ing the mastery over body; but when the necessity of ex- 
ertion was over, and he had returned to the hotel, the d^dly 
paleness of his face, even to his very lips, alarmed his father 
and Captain Wilder, who accompanied him thither. 

In answer to their anxious inquiries, he admitted himself 
to be ill, attributing it partly to over fatigue, and partly to a 
blow on the chest received whilst forcing his way through 
the crowd to the square. 

“This is Mr. Ashton’s doing!” thought Lord Lindmoor, 
as he gazed on the pallid features of his only son, so clearly 
bearing traces of pain, mental and bodily. 

In his fond affection the anxious parent would have had 
medical advice, but to this Lord Fitz Elwyn strongly ob- 
jected, persisting that rest and quiet would entirely restore 
him; and to ensure him this it was settled that he should 
return to Lindmoor immediately, and be committed to his 
mother’s nursing, whilst the earl remained at Nelthorpe to 
make all needful arrangements, and parting speeches to their 
friends and supporters, saying as little as possible about the 
viscount’s indisposition, to avoid all chance of a row or a 
fuss. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


139 


CHAPTER IX. 

Robert Ashton gave less thought to the spoiling of his 
friend’s steed, than the speedy delivery of his message; and 
the poor horse had cause to rue belonging to so ardent a 
lover, blessed with so hot a friend. Lord Fitz Elwyn was 
defeated! — defeated partly through his endeavors. That for 
which he had so ardently longed — so heavily toiled was 
come to pass! — but was he happy? Happy? When did 
hatred and jealousy ever know happiness? 'I’riumph gleam- 
ed in his eye, hut there was no peace in his heart; that was 
the seat of fiery passions — the arena of fierce and contend- 
ing feelings. 

“Who has won?” demanded Mrs. Ashton, meeting her 
son in the park. 

“Fleetwood,” he shouted in reply, but made no pause. 

Jealousy spurred him on, stifling the accusations of his as 
yet unhardened conscience. It was the work of a minute 
to spring from his smoking horse, and spring up the stairs, 
three steps at a time, never stopping to breathe till he stood 
at the door of the little room expressly appropriated to Ce- 
cil, and where a servant in the hall had informed him he 
should find her. 

“Victory! Victory! he has won!” exclaimed Robert, 
bursting into the apartment, concealing the bouquet behind 
him. 

ir A sudden flashing of joy lit up Cecil’s heavy eye at the 
announcement; she half rose from her chair, and then sank 
down again with a murmured expression of thankfulness, 
the color on her cheek flickering, like a flickering flame. 

“Yes, he has won! I knew you would be rejoiced; and 
he has made me the bearer of this bouquet, which I was 
to deliver with all speed as a token of conquest and grati- 
tude for having been permitted to wear your favor,” con- 


140 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


tinned Robert, standing before her with his fierce eye fixed 
full upon her, endeavoring to check the fury that would 
force its way. 

The caustic irony of his tone at the moment passed un- 
noticed. Cecil only heard — Cecil only thought — he has 
won! he has sent me this bouquet, to be delivered with all 
speed! and her hand grasped the flowers with an eager, yet 
half timid joy. 

But her eye had not discovered half its beauties, ere the 
frenzied laugh of its bearer caused her to look up, and in- 
voluntarily draw back with a sudden pang of fear. 

“ Ha! ha! ha! so this is woman’s consistency; grasping 
with trembling Joy on Tuesday what you declined on Thurs- 
day. Now thanking heaven for a success, which you pre- 
tended to deprecate not a week ago. Hurrah! for woman’s 
consistency! What a pity that the sender of the bouquet 
is not here to see how tenderly you look upon his gift. 
But you can tell him this. Fleetwood bade me say that he 
attributed his victory to your magic flower, worn next his 
heart; and that he should be here to-morrow to lay his ho- 
nors at your feet, which were only precious from the hope 
that they would win him favor in your sight.” 

“ Mr. Fleetwood attribute his victory to my flower! lay 
his honors at my feet! What do you mean? I thought — 
1 understood — ” faltered the agitated girl, looking into his 
face with an eager gaze. 

“What did you think and understand?” questioned Ro- 
bert sarcastically. “Did not you comprehend that Fleet- 
wood had won the election and sent you the bouquet?” 

“ Fleetwood!” murmured Cecil, unconscious that her 
lips moved, whilst a sudden paleness overspread her fea- 
tures, and the flowers lately so firmly grasped fell from her 
hands, as though she had spied an asp amidst their fragrant 
loveliness. 

“ Ha! here is another proof of woman’s consistency: 
now casting away what was lately looked on with such 
doting eyes.” 

“1 bade you tell Mr. Fleetwood that I desired not the 
bouquet,” replied Cecil with as steady a voice as she could 
command, bending over her work, and trying to appear 
completely occupied with its progress. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


141 


“Then why look so dotingly on the flowers at first? 
Surely you could not have thought — you could not have 
understood — that they were sent by another — that another 
had gained the victory! 1 remember now I said that he 
had won. Did you place for he some other name than 
Fleetwood?” questioned Robert, fixing his searching eyes 
upon her. 

“You burst into my room so very boisterously, that I 
may well stand excused for being so much startled as not 
to understand your meaning,” replied Cecil struggling to 
check and conceal the trembling of her fingers, that refused 
to guide the scissors. 

“You have really a genius for explanation. Miss Clare; 
I know no one equal to you in that line. But I do not 
exactly see how my boisterous entree can satisfactorily 
account for your burst of thankfulness, on hearing that he 
had won; or the delight with which you first gazed on the 
flowers.” 

“An election causes such dissensions between families 
and friends, that I might well rejoice at its termination; 
and the beauty of the bouquet might as naturally win my 
thoughtless admiration, having, as you know, an absolute 
passion for flowers,” answered Cecil with but little unstea- 
diness of tone, though she dared not raise her crimson 
cheek, blushing at the evasive words. 

“Did I say you had a genius for explanation. Miss 
Clare? Poor meed of praise! You are the very genius of 
geniuses at an explanation. Neither Dr. Johnson, nor Dr. 
Walker, nor all the explainers of all the words, in all the 
languages, known and unknown, can be compared to you! 
You can only be rivalled by that Member of Parliament, 
of explaining memory, who made it clearly appear that he 
had never said what he had said. But now that you have 
so satisfactorily explained the past,” and there was an iron- 
ical emphasis on the word satisfactorily, “ I must entreat 
you to show more courtesy for the future, and not leave 
the bouquet I was at such pains to bring you to wither on 
the floor.” 

“Do with it as you will, since you deplore its fate, 
you knew it would bring me no pleasure, and after what 


142 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


I said the other day should have declined becoming ital 
bearer.” 

“This is very ungrateful, Miss Clare; most ungrateful 
to me and Fleetwood. If you could tell how he has toiled 
to win those honors which are to be laid at your feet — ' 
gained only by one — yes only one, and that my father’s 
vote, which would have been too late one minute later, and 
which was only recorded in time through my strenuous 
exertions, going into the crowd to look for him, you would 
overpower him with congratulations — me with thanks. 
Nor did my labors of love end there. 'Fo say nothing of 
galloping along the road at the risk of my neck to bring 
you the welcome intelligence, and true afl’ection’s offering, 
I had also to force my way through the crowd; but not 
unaided, I must admit, for the moment Lord Fitz Elwyn 
understood my errand he sent one of his party to clear a 
way for me through the blues, bidding me to tell you, that 
he should be very sorry to delay one bound on such an 
errand.” 

Cecil made no reply, her face was bowed so low that 
her forehead nearly touched the table; and the scissors in- 
stead of making a snip to the right, cut a fearful gash to- 
the left. 

“Am I to gain no thanks for my gallantry. Miss Clare? 
Jiinsi va le monde! Woe waits on him who trusts to wo- 
man’s gratitude. But surely you will cherish those lovely 
flowers? you have such a passion for flowers — solely on 
that account — of course.” 

“ The errand on which they came has robbed them of all 
charms in my eyes; and you may keep them for your 
pains; I will have none of them,” said Cecil putting them 
away with her foot, yet still without looking up. 

“The errand on which they came! What! did you wish 
Lord Fitz Elwyn to win then?” 

Cecil went on with her work in silence. 

“ Did you wish Lord Fitz Elwyn to win?” he demanded 
again with vehemence. 

“1 wished no honors to be laid at my feet; besides, I 
am a whig, as you know,” she replied in a low voice, find- 
ing that he would be answered. 

“A whig!” exclaimed Robert with such bitter irony. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


143 


such a fierce incredulity, that Cecil trembled more and 
more, “The whig was defeated, and I did it!” he added 
with a look and tone of mocking triumph, yet more fearful. 

Still Cecil continued silent; and after gazing intently at 
her for some minutes he turned abruptly away, and paced 
the room with scowling brow, and gigantic strides. 

Cecil shook like an aspen in every limb, but feared her 
unsteady steps would betray her weakness, and subject her 
to further insult if she attempted to leave the room. She 
would have willingly parted with years of life, alas! what 
little happiness had life brought to her! for the privilege of 
being alone at that instant, so utterly unable did she feel to 
contend with the malignant spirit before her, so much did 
she dread what a moment of greater feebleness, and she 
felt her strength was failing, might reveal. Any thing — 
every thing to disturb this fearful tete-a-tete; but the bell 
was on the other side of the room; and no one entered un- 
summoned. 

After some minutes he again stopped abruptly before 
Cecil with a fresh change in his demeanor. 'I'he jealous 
fury before so hardly restrained was no longer checked, 
and yet he assumed a playfulness of tone and air belied by 
the scathing intensity of his gaze. 

“You are fond of snatches of old songs. Miss Clare; I 
will give you a part of one that I fell in with the other day; 
and you can set it to music if you will — 

e “ As I walked by mysclfi 
I talked to myself. 

And myself said to me; 

Cecil Clare loves Lord Fitz Elwyn.” 

A half smothered cry of agony burst from the livid lips 
of Cecil, as she sank back fainting in her chair. 

“Good Heavens! what have I done? I have killed her — 
destroyed her, on whom I doted!” exclaimed the terrified 
Robert, struck to the heart by that painful cry, and the 
corpse-like look of his victim. “Speak to me, Cecil, only 
one word! Say you forgive me; and I . will be as your 
slave for the future, looking no look, bre;athing no word, 
that shall give you pain. Speak to me, even though in 


144 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


anger, I cannot brook this horrid silence,” he continued 
frantic with fear, kneeling before her, and taking one of 
her cold hands in his. 

The hand was not withdrawn, for the sufferer had not 
sufficient strength for that; but he felt her shudder at his 
touch; and this was the only sign of life she gave. 

“Oh! Cecil, you hate me! you shudder at my touch! 
And I have killed you,” he exclaimed letting the cold hand 
that he had taken drop, and clasping his own in wild de- 
spair. 

“Heyday! What is the matter?” cried Mrs. Ashton, 
who had hurried home to hear the news, marvelling to see 
her son kneeling before the fainting Cecil, who really look- 
ed the corpse he at that moment believed her to be. 

“Cecil is dead; and I have killed her,” replied her son 
in hollow accents. 

“ Killed her! How? Bless me! She has only fainted, 

I dare say. She has been very poorly all the last week, 
and my drops did not seem to do her much good. I sup- 
pose you bounced into the room, and so terrified her. 
Boor thing! Poor thing! she is very weak; and I should 
not wonder if she soon followed her mother to the grave. 
Call Hillyer to bring the hartshorn,” exclaimed Mrs. Ash- 
ton, scratching Cecil’s delicate throat with her brooch in 
tearing open her habit shirt to give her air, chafing her 
hands, and loosening her belt, whilst she went on with her 
lamentations and directions. “Do not stand there, Robert, 
staring so wildly, and wringing your hands, as if you really 
had killed her, and were to be hanged for the murder; but 
open the window, and ring the bell for Hillyer; she will 
soon come to again if you give your aid, and bring some 
water.” 

Robert started from his trance of terror; those last words 
had restored him to hope and energy. He threw up the win- 
dow, as high as it would go — rang such a furious peal that 
not only Hillyer, but all the other maids, and some of the 
men came rushing into the apartment; — bringing a decanter 
of water from the nearest bed-room, would have dashed the 
whole of its contents over poor Cecil, had not his mother 
caught his arm in time to prevent her receiving more than 
a sixth part. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


145 


The shock partly revived her! she gasped for breath; but 
it was long ere she opened her eyes, and even then they 
wandered round the room, glancing on all things seeing 
none, till they rested on Robert, who was gazing anxiously 
upon her. It was painful to meet that glazed, unspeculaling 
eye, that saw but took no heed, the mind receiving no im- 
pression from the objects it beheld; but slowly and slowly 
•—little by little — step by step, as it were, there came a 
consciousness of recent suffering, and of present pain, 
mingled with wonder at the cause; and then tiiat conscious- 
ness deepened and deepened, till doubt gave place to cer- 
tainty, and the torturing truth was distinctly traced by 
memory; then the eyes closed again with a wild look of 
agony, and a heart rending sigh. The secret — the cherish- 
ed secret, which she had so long striven to conceal was 
known; and known to him, who would proclaim her as 
one loving, and not loved — won, but not wooed. Her 
spirits sank beneath the shame. Robert could bear no 
more — he was not a murderer — he had not killed her — this 
was something; but that look and sigh would have power 
to wring his heart for many and many a day. 

He rushed from the house bareheaded, into the thickest 
part of the wood, where no foot was likely to follow; and 
there, throwing himself on the earth, he buried his face in 
the long damp grass which he unconsciously plucked up in 
handfuls in the intensity of his remorse. His rival had 
been defeated — his revenge on her who slighted his love 
had been sufficient to content the most obdurate. Was he 
happy? Had revenge on rival and mistress brought peace 
to his heart? When did the accomplishment of evil desires 
ever do this? Look at the dew on his acliing brow — listen 
to his half smothered groans. Robert was called fitful and 
wayward, nay, sometimes funny; few guessed his innate 
energy of character — the intensity of suffering of which 
he was capable; — his self-control in public only increased 
the bitterness of his pangs in private, for he had hitherto 
sought rather to hide than to subdue. 

Not an hour’s rest did he get throughout that night; and 
though assured by his sister that Cecil was considerably 
better, and hoped to be quite well on the morrow, yet njore 
than once did he creep with a noiseless step along the pas- 
VoL. IL— 13 


146 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


sage to listen at her door for her faint breathing to be sure 
that she slept, quarrelling with the breeze as it swept 
through the wood that backed the house, because it inter- 
fered with his love-like longing. And yet the assurance of 
her speedy recovery was not the only assurance he had re- 
ceived that evening, for, in answer to a passionate entreaty 
for forgiveness and promise of silence on all painful sub- 
jects for the future, contained in a note delivered by his 
sister, and so carefully worded as not to wound her delicacy, 
she had not only granted pardon, but consented to see him 
early in the morning and pronounce it in person. 

Had she only consulted her own wishes she would have 
refused a private audience; but his appeal was too touching 
to be resisted by one, who knew so well the pangs of hope- 
less love. 

She was seated in an easy chair by Mrs. Ashton’s ex- 
press command, when he entered her boudoir, and too fully 
occupied in subduing her own emotion to mark the timid 
step and humble air of him, who came to sue for her for- 
giveness. Her eyes were bent on her lap, for she did not 
venture to look up even when he stood before her. How 
could she meet his gaze who knew her painful secret. 

“ Oh, Cecil, what an ashy lip, and look of suffering! 
What a change since yesterday! And this is my doing! 
What a wretch I was to act so cruelly! -You can never 
forgive me — 1 dare not ask it. And it is not the first time 
either, that I have wounded that generous heart, and tram- 
pled on your gentle spirit. No, no; you must ever hate 
me — you can never forgive me,” cried the repentant Ro- 
bert, speaking in a low despairing tone. 

“Yes, Robert, forgive and forget all. W’^e will never 
speak of the past again; and you shall henceforward be to 
me as a dear brother,” faltered the agitated Cecil, holding 
out her hand and motioning him to take a seat beside her. 

“ Bless you, dearest, best!” he exclaimed as he pressed 
the extended hand to his lips, and instead of taking a chair 
beside her, knelt on the cushion at her feet. “ I will strive 
to be all you wish; but judge me not too hardly if I err 
again, for my fiery temper has been too long uncontrolled 
to be subdued at a word. No one else could forgive, as 
you have forgiven; and I deserve not such a generous re- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


147 


turn for my ungenerous cruelly. But if you knew what I 
have endured! suspecting you devoted to another! — perhaps 
you can imagine part, though so much more patient in en- 
during — if so, you may feel some pity.” 

“ I do pity, truly — sincerely; but do not let us refer to 
the past — it can only be painful.” 

“ Nay, but I must refer to the past; and Cecil, bear with 
me a little while; I have no one else to whom I can speak 
of the withering anguish of the last few months. I was 
prejudiced against you by Skinner’s report — I believed you 
proud and mercenary, and worried by my mother’s fussing 
resolved to dislike you; and for a lime, maintaining my re- 
solve, savage that I was, in spile of Emma’s persuasions, 
and the gentleness you displayed in return for my rudeness, 
and your gratitude for any little attention. I tried to dislike 
you still,- but your sweetness overcame my prejudice. I 
grew restless and wretched; — wretched in your presence — 
wretched in your absence. I knew not the cause of that 
restlessness, and I dared not ask my heart. A sentence 
dropped by chance — the jealousy with which I observed 
your affection for Emma, at length revealed the truth. I 
loved as I never thought I could have loved; and at the 
same moment I felt convinced that you were devoted to an- 
other — not Edward, you only regarded him as a brother, 
though I envied him even that; but some one whom you 
had known before we met, and I resolved to watch you 
closely — to criticise look and word and lone. You were 
suffering from some secret sorrow, though no one else sus- 
pected It, and I would find it out. It was to the alter- 
nate influence of love and jealousy that you must attribute 
my wayward mood. I watched all who approached you 
— I hated those who sought your love — I hated all on 
whom you smiled; my jealousy found food in the veiiest 
nothings. I suspected all of being my rivals; but at last 
he came, the rival whom I had most cause to fear: and I 
fell — I knew, by a secret instinct, that I had met my foe. 
I resolved to cross him in every way — I tried to fatliom 
his feelings — to account for his conduct — and for yours; — 
but—” 

“ Spare me! in pity spare me! you promised not to re 


148 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


fer to the past,” pleaded the trembling, blushing Cecil, in- 
terrupting him in his passionate relation. 

“ So very sensitive to a mere allusion. This very sen- 
sitiveness too fully proves the justice of my fears. Some- 
thing has parted you; — I know not — I ask not what, only 
pleading for the remnant of affection, despised or at least 
unclaimed by another. Do not refuse me, Cecil. Give me 
a right to soothe your grief — to protect you from the 
slights of one, who merits not a love he is too proud to 
strive for.” 

“ Do not ask it! do not be ungenerous and seek to found 
your happiness upon my misery. I only pray to go down 
to the grave in peace.” 

“ Ah, Cecil, you hate me! I see it, though you will not 
say it: — and I deserve your hatred.” 

“ No; I regard — I esteem you; but spare me further en- 
treaty, which I am ill able to endure. Be to me as a friend 
« — a brother: — more you can never be.” 

“ A brother — only a brother? Ah, Cecil, how shall I 
school my heart to that!” said Robert with a touching sad- 
ness, looking pleadingly into her face, then bowing his 
head on h ’r hand till his brow rested on her lap, whilst bitter 
tears gus’;ed forth and fell unrestrained. 

“ Leave me, Robert, leave me, I can not bear to see you 
thus; and to linger here can do no good to either,” said the 
weeping Cecil, after some moments of silent sympathy. 

“ You would send me from you in anger, Cecil.” 

“ Not in anger; but in pity. I can not bear those tears.” 

“Tears!” he repeated in surprise. “ Ah, Cecil! I was 
unconscious of this,” he added, as raising his face a tear 
fell on his hand. “ You do right to send me away; you 
must despise this feebleness. But you are weeping too— 
you pity more than you condemn me: in anger, or in peni- 
tence — in every mood, I cause you pain.” 

“ I do not think of that; but this indulgence weakens 
both, and I have need of all my strength.” 

“ And I have taxed that strength so hardly. What have 
I not made you suffer! How in my mad jealousy have I 
not sought to pain and injure him you love! Nay slirink 
not, Cecil. I will speak no more of him; but only this: — 
if I can never be his friend — yet, for your sake, I wil Ino 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


149 


longer be his foe. And now farewell. Do not hate me, 
if you can help it, though my acts may seem to belie my 
words. I have professed friendship for Fleetwood, and 
must not be false to him, as to you; my further exertions 
in his service can do no injury to his rival — and to mine. 
Heaven bless you, Cecil! 1 am too selfish to wish you 
happy with another; but I entreat you, guard your health.” 

Before she could reply he had rushed from the room; 
and was soon after on his way to Nelthorpe, in fulfilment 
of an engagement to meet some of the gentlemen forming 
Mr. Fleetwood’s committee, concerning the payment of 
the election expences, and the arrangements for the chairing, 
Avhich was to take place on the succeeding day. 

“ Here is our new member come to inquire after your 
health,” said Mrs. Ashton to Cecil about two hours later, 
throwing open the door to admit Mr. Fleetwood, who ad- 
vanced eagerly towards Miss Clare, his eyes beaming with 
love and taiumph. 

His empress merit nearly overset the barely recovered 
composure of his lady-love; but the coldness with which 
she received his compliments scarcely damped his ardor; 
he was resolved to hope and believe all that he wished; and 
it required an absolute refusal to drive him from this reso- 
lution. Mrs. Ashton, without guessing his intention of 
learning his fate, favored his views by leaving the room in 
search of Emma, in accordance with her idea that, Cecil 
being engaged to Sir Thomas VVillerton, Mr. Fleetwood 
might, if afforded opportunities, transfer his intentions to 
her eldest daughter. 

“ I hope you received the bouquet safely,” began the 
new member as soon as his hostess was out of hearing. 
“ It was not as beautiful as I desired, but the best I could 
procure, though utterly unworthy of her to whom it was 
sent.” 

“ I believe it was very beautiful, Mr. Fleetwood; but my 
indisposition prevented my observing its loveliness. I only 
regret that you should have been at the trouble of sending 
it, when you must have had so many other things to think 
of.” 

“ Amid all the bustle of the election you were still my 
first thought,” he replied, consoling himself for not seeing 

13 * 


150 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


his flowers in the room supposing that she had placed them 
in some favored spot, where no eye but hers could rest upon 
them. 

Had he known that they had been trampled on at the 
time, and since forgotten, his hopes would have been less 
bright. 

“I trust your thoughts were more profitably employed,” 
answered Cecil, growing colder and colder — paler and 
paler every moment; for his words brought to her mind not 
only Robert’s late emotion; but Fitz Elwyn’s defeat. 

“ They could not be employed on any object so dear to 
me as yourself.” 

“ I was early taught to distrust flatterers, Mr. Fleet- 
\Vood,” replied Cecil severely, hoping to check a more open 
declaration. 

“ This is no flattery; it is only the simple truth,” he ex- 
claimed with increasing earnestness. 

. “ I hope not, Mr. Fleetwood, for I should be deeply 
pained to believe you sincere in this. However much flat- 
tered by your esteem, I neither deserve nor desire to be the 
first in your regard.” 

The gravity and decision with which this was said made 
him silent for some moments. 

“ You have not congratulated me on my success,” he re- 
marked when he next spoke, vexed at her coldness, yet still 
resolved to hope. 

“ You knew from the first that, having been brought up 
a whig, you could not command my sympathy.” 

“ Not command — I would command nothing; but im- 
plore, entreat. Your flower has never left me — I prized it 
as a spell to insure my victory — a pledge of success, whilst 
seeking to obtain a still more precious boon.” 

“That flower was taken, Mr. Fleetwood; it would never 
have been given,” replied Cecil still more decidedly, cross- 
ing the room as she spoke, and busying herself in arranging 
some books on the table. 

It was no longer possible for tfie most hopeful lover to 
misunderstand the hopelessness of a further suit, at least at 
the present time. Hers was not the embarrassed coldness 
of timid love, fearing to seem to understand and consent too 
quickly, nor the coldness of a practised coquette, assumed 
to draw on a fuller declaration; but the resolute coldness of 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


151 


a delicate and high minded woman, who, though grieved at 
inflicting pain, felt it just and generous at once to crush the 
hopes that could never be realised. 

Mr. Fleetwood had been a hopeful — a very hopeful lover, 
for he had wilfully shut his eyes to her coldness from their 
first acquaintance, choosing to believe that such was her 
natural manner; but he could deceive himself no longer; 
and this rude awakening from a blissful dream was deeply 
felt. For some moments he did not speak — he did not 
move; — and the ruddy cheek pded to an ashy hue; then 
came delusive hope again, with a soft and witching whis- 
per. What cannot time effect? She might be his if he 
urged her not too boldly now; — she might not withstand his 
continued, silent devotion. 

“ Your refusing to share in my triumph. Miss Clare, has 
robbed that triumph of its brightest glory in my eyes; but 
I will not torment you further on the subject; forgive me if 
I have already been too importunate. You will not deny 
me I trust the regard of a friend.” 

“ Certainly not; you have compelled my esteem,” replied 
Cecil, touched by his saddened tone, and forgetting for the 
moment in her generous sympathy with his present disap- 
pointment, whose rival he had so lately been; but she had 
cause to repent the warmth with which she had spoken. 

“ A thousand, thousand thanks!” he exclaimed with re- 
turning ardor. “ If I only ask for your friendship now — 
hereafter, I may hope for more.” 

“ More you can never have,” said Cecil with a decision 
of manner, that left no doubt. 

The re-entrance of Mrs. Ashton with Emma stopped fur- 
ther conversation on a subject so painful to Cecil; and Mr. 
Fleetwood soon after took his leave having many engage- 
ments. 

She could not refuse to shake hands as usual at parting, 
but she did it reluctantly; the hand that pressed hers was 
the hand of him who had opposed and defeated Lord Fitz 
Elwyn. He had compelled her esteem, as she had said, 
for she had been prejudiced against him, but she could no 
longer find pleasure in his society. And yet what was — 
what could Lord Fitz Elwyn be to her? When did the 
heart of loving woman solve such a question by the rule of 
reason? 


152 


THE QUIET HUSBAMiK-, 


CHAPTER X. 

You are so much better, what say you to driving me 
over to Holdish Park to-morrow?” said Lady Lindmoor to 
her son as they were sitting together in her ladyship’s 
morning-room in the afternoon of the day succeeding the 
election. “ You have not been there for some lime; and 
Lord Barringham deserves, and may expect your thanks.” 

“I paid them before I quitted Nellhorpe,” replied the 
viscount as briefly as possible, without raising his eyes 
from the newspaper. 

“ But you have not paid them to Lady Barbara, and she 
was nearly as active as her father.” 

“ Rather too active to suit my ideas of woman’s retiring 
delicacy,” observed his lordship decidedly. 

“ Nay, Frederick, that is rather ungrateful, considering 
that those exertions were in your behall^; a lover should not 
be so critical.” 

“ Let her lovers judge her ladyship’s conduct as they 
please! I am not one of the number.” 

“I should be very sorry to believe you Frederick. She 
is rich, handsome, accomplished, and good tempered.” 

“ Add to these, vain, frivolous, and cold-hearted,” re- 
marked the viscount with a slight tinge of bitterness. 

“ I did not expect to hear such an addition to her cata- 
logue of merits from you.” 

“ It is a painful subject for me to touch on, my dear 
mother; but our family motto is * La verite' and I believe 
it is always the best plan to meet a disagreeable subject half 
way, and discuss it in a straightforward manner,” replied 
his lordship, throwing aside the paper, and with it the list- 
less manner of the last few hours. “I know that the whole 
county has given me to Lady Barbara, and more than sus- 
pect that the Earl and Countess of Lindmoor, instead of 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


153 


forming a judgment of their own, have followed in the 
wake of others; but Lord Filz Elwyn floats not down with 
the general current.” 

“ 1 cannot deny that your father and myself desire your 
union with Lady Barbara,” observed the countess, coloring 
slightly. 

“ I am grieved to hear it, my dear mother,” said her son, 
approaching the table at which she was sitting. “ When 
we were poor, you thought of your son’s happiness; 
but now that we are rich you think only of his aggrandise- 
ment.” 

“ Nay, Fitz Elwyn, this is an unkind reproach. Lady 
Barbara is neither ill-tempered, nor ill-favored; but, on the 
contrary admired by all.” 

“But not beloved by me.” 

“You were much with her at one time,” remarked his 
mother a little reproachfully. 

“ True; restless and unhappy I thought to banish painful 
remembrances by lively society, and Lady Barbara aided 
my design, but with the clear understanding that it would 
be in vain to hope for more than the honor of walking, talk- 
ing, and dancing with her courted ladyship. I am no stoic 
to be quite insensible to beauty; and she is handsome, and, 
if in the humor, can be amusing; but I was then only Cap- 
tain Filz Elwyn, and she too cold-hearted and prudent to 
attach me, or become attached herself, and therefore, there 
was nothing to dread in her society. The difference be- 
tween a viscount and a poor captain of dragoons is of her 
finding out, and not mine; I stand to our original compact. 
We agreed to conjugate the verb s'amuser together; but not 
the verb aimer. You have yourself accused me lately of 
shunning her society; I wished to give no countenance to 
the reports, reported to me by every gossip.” 

“ Whatever may have been lier views in former days, I 
am convinced that a little more attention now would ensure 
success.” 

“ Possibly; but that was not in the bond; and I will have 
my bond.” 

“I hope, Fitz Elwyn, you will not allow a feeling of 
pique to lose you a young, rich, and handsome bride, who 


154 


THE QXJIET HUSBAND. 


would be so readily welcomed as a daughter by your pa- 
rents.” 

“ Call it pique if you please, my dear mother; but rest 
assured that the viscount will never sue to her, who would 
have rejected the captain had he made an offer. Lady 
Barbara is rich — why do you string more perfeciions toge- 
ther, since that alone is all-sufficient? Lady Barbara is rich 
— but I covet not riches.” 

“No, Fitz Elwyn; not covet — you are too high-minded 
for that; — nor do we covet wealth; — but still it would be so 
acceptable, situated as you are.” 

“You do not covet wealth — only tliink it would be so 
acceptable! Ah! my dear mother, this sounds something 
like a definition — a distinction out of the dictionary of that 
gentleman, who is said to wear hoofs and horns by way of 
ornament; and I am sure you will allow no book of his a 
place in your library. And why would more wealth be so 
very acceptable? We were contented six months since 
with less than a fifth of our present income; if riches bring 
discontent and craving for more, let us give up our late 
inheritance.” 

“You forget, Frederick, that to our late inheritance is 
appended a title, which it requires a good income to main- 
tain with proper dignity; a poor lord is a subject of jest to 
rich commoners. The landed property attached to the 
earldom, though extensive, is far from profitable; since, by 
the strictness of the entail we can cut down but little timber; 
and the house and grounds are large, needing repair, and 
expensive attendance. Your father feels all this acutely, 
fearing to leave you with the show of wealth, but in reality 
distressed. Lady Barbara’s sixty thousand pounds would 
enable you hereafter to maintain the title with becoming 
dignity.” 

“ Maintain the title with becoming dignity!” repeated 
Fitz Elwyn his lip curling with contempt. Then his mood 
changing, he continued with a gentle earnestness that could 
not be heard unmoved. “ Ah! mother, when you were 
Mrs. Fitz Elwyn, and had but eight hundred a year, you 
thought only of your son’s happiness; but now that you are 
Lady Lindmoor, with five thousand per annum, as I said 
before you think more of his greatness and dignity. And 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


155 


what are greatness and dignity compared to happiness? Five 
thousand a year will not pay many contested elections, and 
I know my father is ve'xed that my friends are to pay for 
mine for me, I think it the highest honor to have been se- 
lected as a fitting candidate, not for my wealth, but my 
character. Five thousand a year will not admit of gorgeous 
parties, or of gorgeous diamonds; but my dear mother used 
to care for neither, prizing her husband and her son above 
the jewels of the Indies. It will furnish you with needful 
comforts and elegancies without stinting you in hospitality 
to your friends, though it may limit profusion to a crowd of 
idlers, and leave enough to wipe the tears from many eyes, 
my mother’s favorite employment. It is not gold that gives 
dignity to rank, but virtue; and I am vexed that my noble 
and high minded father should countenance the vulgar error 
of rating worth by riches — the parish overseer or road sur- 
veyor could do no worse, and in them alone can be excu- 
sable. The Earl of Lindmoor needs not a splendid income 
to ensure esteem; and his countess needs as little barbaric 
gold to gild her virtues and her charms; all see them and 
all feel them, who come near her,” said her son taking his 
mother’s hand, aud pressing it to his lips with mingled 
pride and affection. 

“ I hope this flattery and philosophy are quite disinterest- 
ed Frederick, not founded on any lingering feeling of regard 
for the proud merchant’s prouder daughter,” observed the 
countess, gratified by his affectionate words and caress, yet 
half annoyed at his repugnance to a union with Lady Bar- 
bara, knowing that her husband’s mind was set upon it. — 
“ Nothing would induce your father to give his consent, 
particularly since the conduct of the Ashtons at the late 
election, and the daughter’s elopement. I trust you will 
keep to your resolution of not giving any one the opportu- 
nity of accepting you with a title, who would have rejected 
you without one.” 

“ I have no intention of breaking it, my dear mother; and 
If I had, it would be — ‘ Love’s labor lost,’ for the lady is en- 
gaged to another.” 

“ I am very glad to hear it: I know some give her to Sir 
Thomas Willerton and some to Mr. Fleetwood,” exclaimed 
Lady Lindmoor. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


The viscount turned with a sigh to the window. 

“ I fear my remarks have pained you; but it is better you 
should understand that we can never receive Miss Clare as 
a daughter,” said Lady Lindmoor gently, breaking the si- 
lence that had followed her last observation. “ Her pride 
and vanity luring you on to make an offer; then her in- 
solent rejection: — her — ” 

*• It is a painful subject, and we will converse on some 
other if you please, my dear mother,” replied Fitz El- 
wyn with a kindling cheek. “ Her pride and vanity are 
in my opinion doubtful; for I have watched her narrowly 
and seen nothing of either, at least nothing of the latter, 
and little of the former, but towards myself. I cannot ex- 
plain or defend her conduct — I can only forgive it; in short, 
I have tried in vain to hale or despise her. But do not 
think from this confession of folly that I shall ever ask 
you and my father to receive her as a daughter, even 
were she not engaged to another, and worse than indif- 
ferent to me. I will never wed without your consent; but 
in return you must cease to press me to a hateful union. 
I desire no increase to the income arising from my aunt’s 
bequest; my wants are moderate; and I should be truly 
sorry to deprive my parents of any of the comforts or even 
luxuries attached to their state. The land at Lindmoor, 
though at present unproductive, may I am sure be conside- 
rably improved, and a few months hence I shall be ready to 
devote myself to its improvement; in the mean time I hope 
you will persuade my father not to oppose my wish to 
travel.” 

“ Travel, Frederick! what is the cause of this sudden 
wish?” said Lady Lindmoor vexed at the idea. 

“ Can you not guess? Is it possible that you too have 
been deceived by my calm exterior, which has gained me 
the soubriquet of the cold?” exclaimed her son with a sud- 
den burst of feeling. “ Do you take me for stone or iron, 
to think I can bear unmoved my defeat by a rival in a con- 
tested election; and the loss of the only woman I ever loved? 
Do you think I could stand calmly by and see her give her 
hand to another, and offer her congratulations too? But it 
is belter that you should think this, than guess the madden- 
ing pangs that thrill my frame.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


157 


“ Frederick, my dear Frederick! I had no idea — I entreat 
you,” began his terrified mother, laying her hand aflfectio- 
nately on his shoulder, and looking anxiously into his face. 

“1 am calm, perfectly calm, my dear mother, if that is 
what you would entreat,” he replied mastering his emotion 
with a powerful effort, though his lip quivered as he made 
the assertion. “ But there are limits to all endurance, and 
I dare not linger here; you must let me traverse other lands 
— see other faces. Persuade my father to this — tell him 
why, if you will, but never again name the subject to me. 
Any allusion to her unmans me — think then what I must 
endure in her presence! But I hear a carriage, and am in no 
mood for gossip, so shall be off to my study;” and kissing 
away the tears that were streaming down his mother’s 
cheeks, he rushed from the room, bidding his servant say, 
should the visit be to him, that he was not at home. 

The visit was to him; and the visitor resolved to take no 
denial. 

“You may say what you will, Humphries, but I know 
from your manner that Lord Fitz Elwyn is at home,” ex- 
claimed Sir Thomas Willerton, passing the bowing, deny- 
ing domestic, and taking his way direct to his friend’s 
study. 

“ Willerton!” cried the startled viscount, as the baronet 
threw open the door. 

“Yes, Willerton; the happiest man alive? Why don’t 
you congratulate me, instead of staring thus, and looking 
as pale as if I were a ghost, and not of this ‘ too solid 
flesh?’ ” he continued in too high spirits to remark his 
friend’s depression. 

“You gave me no time, and made such an unceremoni- 
ous entree, as to flutter my delicate nerves,” replied the 
viscount rallying. “You know how sincerely I desire 
your happiness.” 

“ To be sure I do of old, or I should not suspect it from 
your present manner. I am by no means affronted at your 
saying — ‘ not at home,’ knowing that such a saying could 
not have beUTi intended for me.” 

“ Certainly not. I suppose I am to congratulate you on 
having defeated your uncle’s unworthy son.” 

VoL. II.— 14 


158 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Yes, completely. I have it under his own hand that 
his mother was not lawfully married — 

‘ By candle, by book and by bell.’ 

in return for which I pay him a decent annuity. The 
whole was planned by a worthless attorney, who, for his 
own profit, persuaded the illegitimate son to dispute the 
property with the legitimate nephew. The young man is 
more weak than wicked; and my rights fully established. 
But that was only a preliminary step to my present happi- 
ness, permitting me to play the open, ardent lover, which 
honor had before forbidden.” 

“Then you are going to make the offer at once,” ob- 
served Fitz Elwyn quickly. 

“Going to do it! I have done it, to be sure: and been 
accepted. Could any thing else excuse .my raptures? 
There, don’t look so dull about it, man; one would think 1 
was going to be hanged instead of being married. I can- 
not think what has given you such a dislike to matrimony 
of late. Some months ago you raved so wildly of love, 
and a lover’s bliss, that I expected to. have been called on 
to play bridegroom’s man at once; and now you look as if 
you fancied me engulfed, or at least engulfed in a quick- 
sand, without the hope of escape. You do not mean to 
deny I hope that my bride is peerless? the sweetest! the 
loveliest and the best!” 

“Oh! certainly not.” 

“Oh! certainly not;” repeated the baronet. “ Umph! 
1 don’t object to the brevity of the words, though I wish 
the lone had been a little less scornful; but I believe the 
Ashtons are in bad odor at Lindmoor just at present, so I 
must make allowances. You will attend the wedding: I 
should not think myself really married if you were not by 
my side to bear witness.” 

“If I should be in England, Willerton;- but I shall pro- 
bably be abroad at the time.” 

“Abroad! Why, what in the name of all that is whimsi- 
cal can you be going abroad for, Fitz Elwyn?” 

“ It is the best approved course for a rejected candidate; 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


159 


a tour in such a case is selon les regies," replied the vis- 
count speaking hurriedly and with much bitterness. 

“ Pooh! nonsense, Filz Elwyn? If you had been re- 
jected by your lady love and wished to avoid seeing her 
the bride of another it would be a different affair; but only 
losing a county election by one is no legitimate cause for 
a tour. Stay and outface the tories; and above all stay and 
sober my transports, for, in truth I am well nigh running 
wild with my happiness, which has only two drawbacks. 
The first, that I must set off for London immediately on par- 
ticular business; the second, which I have only thought of 
since the last five minutes, the difficulty of deciding what my 
bride is to call me. It is very provoking that you, who being 
a viscount, do not require a euphonious Christian name, 
should possess such an aristocratic one as Frederick, whilst 
I who, from being only a baronet, have my Christian name 
always standing forward, as it were in alto relievo, should 
have such a commonplace cognomen as Thomas. 'J'ho- 
mas — Tommy — Tom. What shall she call me? Not 
Tom Fool — nor Tom Noddy — whatever you may think 
about it. Viscount Fitz Elwyn.” 

“ I was only thinking of Mad Tom.” 

“ Wherein you resemble, dear, good, kind, Mrs. Ashton, 
who declared I was not in my right senses, and proposed 
giving me some of her famous drops.” 

“Dear, good, kind, Mrs. Ashton!” repeated his friend 
emphatically. 

“Yes; dear, good, kind, Mrs. Ashton, Fitz Elwyn, 
sneer as you may. I am her champion for life, since she 
has promised to expedite the wedding, which you must 
attend; for she has set her heart upon it.” 

“Has she? But ‘on a bat’s back do I fly,’ towards 
Rome and Naples.” 

“-Oh! you are going thither — are you? I should not 
wonder if such were to be our wedding tour, so do wait 
till after the ceremony, and then you can go with us, and 
the prettiest of the bridesmaids shall be invited to make the 
fourth, for your sake. My wife! — what a delightful word! 
will be enchanted at the arrangement.” 

“ Will she?” exclaimed Fitz Elwyn. 

“To be sure she will. Bless me! man, what do you 


160 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


mean by asking the question in such an awful tone? But I 
beg your pardon for this folly, Fitz; I see you cannot get 
over this hateful election; and I have a spite against Fleet- 
wood myself for vexing you; here is a capital plan for re- 
venge. He has cut you out as a member — what say you 
to cutting him out as a lover, and persuading Cecil Clare to 
elope with you?” 

“Thank you; but I would by no means interfere with 
your better claim.” 

“Interfere with my better claim, indeed! no, I trust not; 
for, in good sooth, I should not like you for a rival; but 
w’ith all my madness I consider one wife quite as much as 
I can manage; and am no dog in the manger to keep to 
myself what I cannot enjoy.” 

“One wife! What do you mean, Willerton?” inquired 
Fitz Elwyn with startling eagerness, fixing his burning eyes 
on his friend as he waited for his answer. 

“Mean! why you must be mad to ask the question; and 
you certainly do not look over sane. I mean that since 
Emma Ashton has consented to become Lady Willerton, I 
shall have great pleasure in bestowing Cecil Clare on the 
friend I love best in the world, and the only man who de- 
serves her.” 

“Emma Ashton! I thought — I fancied — that ii was Cecil 
Clare,” stammered Lord Fitz Elwyn, grasping at the man- 
tel-piece for support, with such a sudden change of expres- 
sion, as must have revealed his secret, had not the baronet’s 
own confusion prevented fair play to his penetration. 

“Oh, no! it is Emma Ashton who is to be my bride,” 
replied Sir Thomas coloring highly, and twirling his hat. 

“What! after all you said at Milford of Miss Clare? your 
transports? your determination that — ” 

“'i'here! there it comes! I forgot what I should have to 
endure. Stop! stop, man; and don’t prove yourself a tire- 
some bore, remembering all that you ought not,” exclaimed 
the baronet, flinging down his hat with a still higher color. 
“There is no greater proof of a want of tact than remind- 
ing your friends of what they wish to forget; raking up old 
sayings to contrast them with new doings. Besides 1 thought 
you must have seen the change in the object of my devotion 
and admired the generosity of your silence.” 


tHE QUIET HUSBAND. 


161 


“ I was so little at Ashton Grove that my ignorance is* 
not surprising; and you always spoke highly of Miss 
Clare.” 

“So I do still; ay, and will to the latest hour of my ex- 
istence,” exclaimed the baronet interrupting him. “ I 
esteem, I admire her quite as much if not more than ever; 
but my love is Emma Ashton’s. Cannot you understand 
the difference; and how it all came about? But no. I see 
you cannot; and indeed I do not quite understand it myself. 
I was in earnest in all I said at Milford; and at the close of 
the Archery meeting was resolved that Cecil Clare should 
be Lady Willerton, let who, or what would oppose it; but 
somehow or other this sudden and ardent affection faded 
away; not dying a violent death; but declining with a 
gradual decay, so gradual indeed, that I still believed myself 
attached to the fair Cecil, till to my surprise I found that I 
was really, truly, and bona fide in love with the as fair 
Emma. There had been no quarrel — no disgust; Miss 
Clare had always met me with friendly warmth; but it was 
the very frankness of that warmth that prevented my ad- 
vancing in love. She was always the same — always cor- 
dial — never timid and embarrassed; she seemed resolved 
that we should be friends, and nothing more. I scarcely 
ever saw her alone — Emma was always with her, as I have 
since learnt, at her particular request; and by some strange 
fatality, as it seemed, if I began to talk and walk with Miss 
Clare, I always ended by talking and walking with Miss 
Ashton, till at last this became a habit; and then — and then 
— really I cannot pretend to say how it happened, only this 
I know, that somehow or other, one odd day I found myself 
to my own infinite surprise, making Miss Clare the confi- 
dant of my affection for her friend, and so merciful was she 
in her raillery, that I did not blush more than a maiden of 
sixteen at her first offer; and now love her next to my own 
gentle, happy Emma. My cousin’s claim obliged me to 
set off into Staffordshire; and as I considered myself bound 
in honor not to name my hopes to the lady herself, till I 
could tell what I had to offer, I left my cause in Miss 
Clare’s hands, who soothed my fears, advanced my suit 
with Emma, and set my mind at rest this morning by a 
look and whisper, besides adroitly contriving to secure me 


162 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


tete-a-tete with my fair mistress, though suffering herself 
from a horrid head-ache, poor thing, and looking so wretch- 
edly ill, that I was painfully struck with her appearance. 
There; I think I have given you a very lucid explanation.” 

“Very lucid indeed! about as clear as the waters of the 
upper pond, which we are just ridding of its mud,” replied 
Fitz Elwyn with a smile. “You are quite sure that Miss 
Ashton is really the object of your constant love.” 

“To be sure I am. Now don’t be provoking, Fitz; I 
know I deserve to be laughed at, and therefore I daresay 
should not resent your mirth. I have not seen such a 
happy, mischievous smile on your face for ages.” 

“Happy!” repeated Fitz Elwyn, all trace of smiles de- 
parted. 

“ Don’t fall back into the doldrums, Fitz, I did not mean 
that; only laugh at some one else instead of me. I am sure I 
have acted very wisely; Emma Ashton is much better suit- 
ed to me; Miss Clare herself says this; and I think from 
your cleared up brow that you are going to assert the same, 
and offer me more eloquent congratulations than you have 
yet vouchsafed.” 

“ Congratulations as warm and eloquent as the heart of 
a true friend can devise, and his lips utter, Willerton,” said 
Fitz Elwyn, shaking him heartily by the hand. 

“ That is like yourself, Fitz! I know you again now, 
with that look of life and energy, instead of the gloomy 
eye and contracted brow that met me on my entrance, and 
all because Emma Ashton is to be my bride, and not Cecil 
Clare! Your mutual dislike is unaccountable to me; for 
she is a noble creature, the only woman, save my Emma, 
and you cannot have her; worthy of becoming Lady Fitz 
Elwyn. It is a riddle past my finding out — a fault in you 
that is past my mending. But it is very provoking that you 
cannot be at the wedding, and divide Mrs. Ashton’s zealous 
endeavors to make every one comfortable.” 

“ My plans are not definitely arranged; and it is possible 
that I may be able to attend,” said the viscount in some 
confusion, which confusion again escaped the observation of 
liis pre-occupied friend. 

“That is a good fellow! I should feel a want of some- 
thing even on my marriage day if you were not there. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


163 


Join in our wedding tour, as I proposed, and play pretty to 
the prettiest bridesmaid. There; don’t begin to assert and 
asseverate; I am no matchmaker, and shall not invite Mi^s 
Clare to become our travelling companion. In the first 
place you do not deserve such happiness; and in the next 
place I suppose Fleetwood would put his veto on the pro- 
ject, preferring to take her as bride in a wedding tour with 
him, as the good folks at Nelthorpe believe. To be M. P. 
and husband to Cecil Clare is too great felicity for any one 
mortal; but I suppose it must be so, since I cannot spirit 
you up to enter the lists against him, and carry off the lady. 
I had not time to ask her about the rumor, or rather to ques- 
tion Emma, for Miss Clare is not a person whom I should 
presume to catechise on such a subject. There is a dignity 
about her that mingles respect with admiration. By the 
way, I also heard something about the Ashtons havingbehaved 
unhandsomely towards you at the election; but I hope this 
is not true; it is tiresome enough their having been against 
you; there must be no coolness between us, Fitz Elwyn.” 

“Never, I trust, Willerton! Mr. Robert Ashton, as you 
know, does not exactly rival a lamb in gentleness; but I 
consider Hartley to have been the most ^o blame in the 
elopement; and the poor misled girl the least; and as to 
Mr. Ashton, I suspect his party transformed a love for pro- 
crastination, into a love for toryism, or a personal dislike to 
me; at least so I am willing to. believe, and will endeavor 
to persuade my father to the same opinion; at any rate, 
you may be certain of always being a welcome guest at 
Lindmoor.” 

“ Thank you, Fitz; I may put your hospitality to the lest 
within the week; for, as you may guess, 1 shall not dawdle 
with my business; but return to Emma as soon as possible, 
to be assured again from her own lips of all I wish to hear, 
for it seems almost a dream my visit was so hurried; and 
here have I been prating instead of departing: — I had no 
idea it was so late. Adieu, Fitz. Mind you are to be at 
the wedding; and if you really will not cut out Fleetwood, 
as I said before, you shall select the travelling bridesmaid. 
But what nonsense am 1 talking, forgetting Lady Barbara, 
the rich, the beautiful,, who is so ready to console you for 
the loss of what she did her utmost to secure, shaking 


1G4 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


hands with unwashed artisans, and kissing unwashed babes, 
to win you votes. Offer her my congratulations, and ac- 
cept the same yourself; and do not indulge in the blues 
again on my departure. Your look is not half as bright as 
it was some five minutes since. But once more, good bye, 
I cannot stay to keep up your spirits;” and away went the 
baronet as he himself had said, the happiest man alive. 

“ Cut out Fleetwood? No let him win her and wear her 
I am not to be wooed and then thrown off,” thought Lord 
Fitz Elwyn, drawing himself up till he looked like one of 
the proud knights in the old picture gallery. 

What a lot of dignity some people waste on petty occa- 
sions! And how very indignant they are a})t to be about 
nothing when under the dominion of pride! 

Cecil Clare had shown no symptom of wooing Lord Fitz 
Elwyn; from their first meeting at Alum Bay to the present 
moment her manner had been uniformly cold and distant; 
and she could with as little justice be accused of throwing 
him off, only because the good people of Nelthorpe report- 
ed that Mr. Fleetwood intended to make her his bride; 
but the viscount thought otherwise, and looked very proud 
and very indignant as if deeply wounded; and begging his 
pardon, all for nothing. 

In the evening came a note and parcel from Willerton, 
brought by the post-boy, who had driven the baronet to 
Harston. The parcel contained a book and some drawings 
for Emma, promised long before; but which in his happi- 
ness he had forgotten to give her, accompanied by a note to 
Fitz Elwyn in which he requested him to deliver the draw- 
ings in person, as they were very delicate, and he was sure 
Emma would be pleased with the attention, as showing that 
he entertained no enmity against her family for any thing 
that had taken place during the election. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


165 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Nonsense, about delivering the parcel in person! Hum- 
phries will prove as careful a carrier as the post-boy,” was the 
thought of Lord Fitz Elwyn over night; but the morning saw 
him set off across the fields in the direction of Ashton Grove 
with the said packet in his hand, the earl and countess both 
supposing that he was gone to inspect the workmen at the 
upper pond. 

“ Good morning, my lord!” cried honest Flinter, sorely 
puzzled whether he ought to condole with him on his late 
defeat, or avoid the subject of the election, as carefully as he 
wished every one to avoid the subject of Purcell’s pigs. 

“ Good morning, Flinter; fine weather for the harvest,” 
replied his lordship kindly. 

“Yes, blessed weather, my lord; better than we, poor 
sinful men desarves. I do not know how it is, but I always 
feels what the parson says about the wickedness of man 
more in a fine harvest than at any other time, and thinks 
with shame how I have grumbled at the weather all the 
year before. God is veiy merciful to us, my lord; and yet 
we are always a complaining, wanting more. It is not 
being rich, or a lord that will make one happy; but a humble 
and contented heart. Lords don’t have all things turn out 
just as they like any more than other folks.” 

“ Very true, Flinter.” 

“ Aye, my lord, and people don’t all have their deserts 
in this world either, good or bad; but the wicked flaunt 
away sometimes like the tall scarlet poppies in the corn, till 
the reaper comes and cuts them and casts them aside, just 
as it will be in the last day, my lord, as we read in the 
blessed Bible. If things was as they should be in this 
world, you would have been our member; and I am most 
mortal sorry that you lost; and only by one, too, and that 


166 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


is more provoking! I was quite mad when I heard of it; 
and I am sure master would not have been sorry if he had 
not got there in time. You see, my lord, I wears your 
colors still; and so I will till arter to-day, though I was to 
meet all the purples coming back from the procession. I 
got Miss Cecil to give it me just the same as she gave 
Master Edward; for I overheard him thank her for his bow, 
when I was coming out of the study, where I had been to 
ask about the old cart horse that was taken ill.” 

“ Did she give Mr. Edward Ashton his colors?” inquired 
Fitz Ehvyn quickly. 

“To be sure she did, my lord; but told him particular not 
to tell; and there was not one in all the county as wished 
you to win more than she, though she said nothing to any 
body about it. Why her eyes looked as bright as the but- 
tons on my best Sunday coat if I said you was like to get 
it.” 

Fitz Elwyn longed to ask of the reported union with 
Mr. Fleetwood, but refrained from delicacy, checking even 
any expression of surprise and pleasure at Fiinter’s words; 
his eyes, however, like Cecil’s, rivalled the buttons on the 
honest bailiff’s Sunday coat. 

“ Thank you for your good wishes. The Ashton family 
are gone to the chairing, I understand,” observed the vis- 
count with assumed indifference after a moment’s pause. 

“ Some of them, my lord, not all; Miss Emma would not 
go, because of Sir Thomas Willerton being your friend, nor 
Master Edward; and master himself did not wish to go, but 
missus made every body go as she could. I beg missus’s 
pardon, and would not on no account wish to say any thing 
disrespectful of her; but I am sartain sure if the devil was to 
give a raree show that she would be there, and that not out of 
any particular liking of the giver of the show; but only be- 
cause she have not got any bide still in her. She must 
always be a moving about; — a fidgeting herself and every 
body else. Yet missus be a good woman too, in the main 
too, though she do worry one horrible sometimes interfering 
about the farm. Wanting wheat arter barley!-— was ever 
such a thing heard of?” 

The viscount gave a sickly smile without understanding 
why. Then Edward and Emma were the only members 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


167 


of the family left at home. Cecil was gone to grace Mr. 
Fleetwood’s triumph. It was natural — it was to be ex- 
pected — her wishing him success was only a fancy of the 
stupid old bailiff’s, who was always fancying fancies among 
young ladies and gentlemen. 

It was very right and very natural that Cecil should be 
there. And what could it matter to him after he had been 
so scornfully rejected, and had just declared that nothing 
should induce him to make a second offer? Oh! it did not 
matter to him at all. She might go where she pleased — do 
what she pleased — wed whom she pleased; — it did not — it 
could not matter to him in the least. But though it was all 
very natural, and very right, that Cecil should grace Mr. 
Fleetwood’s triumph; and though it did not matter in the 
least to him where slie went, or what she did; yet somehow 
or other, as his friend Willerton had said, he felt vexed and 
indignant at her attending the chairing; and began to think 
that hi*s delivering the parcel at Ashton Grove in person 
was all nonsense. Not of course that Cecil’s presence or 
absence had any thing to do with his morning’s resolution 
of bearing the packet himself; but only on second thoughts 
it was taking trouble for nothing; and calling when Mr. and 
Mrs. Ashton were from home, which he had known, by the 
way, a full half hour before, might look like resentment at 
the conduct of the latter! so as Flinter evidently knew of 
the baronet’s engagement, he might as well be made the 
carrier of the precious parcel. 

“ I see by your smile, Flinter, that you have heard of my 
friend Sir Thomas Willerton’s happiness,” said the vis- 
count after another short pause, during which these thoughts 
had been passing in his mind, whilst the bailiff had been 
watching his countenance. 

“ Aye, Aye! my lord. I see a great deal more than 
people think. I knew which young lady he was a court- 
ing. And Sir Thomas Willerton is a happy man; for there 
is not a better nor sweeter tempered lady in all the county, 
no more scarce a prettier neither, unless it’s Miss Cecil, as 
I always calls her, for I took to her at once, just as thoff 
she had been one of the family somehow. Some thinks 
Miss Sarah is the handsomest, but I don’t; and Miss Cecil 
looks grander and more queen like. 


168 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Willerton is a happy man.” said the viscount and a 
sigh closed the sentence. “ Here is a parcel for Miss Ash- 
ton, which he forgot to give her yesterday, and sent back 
to me last night from Harston, begging that I w’ould take it 
myself, as the drawings which it contains should be hand- 
led carefully; but you can take charge of it, and that will 
save me the trouble of going on to the house, which would 
be useless now since Mr. Ashton is not at home.” 

“ I had rather not take charge of it, my lord, if I may 
be so bold as to say so, for many reasons,” answered Flin- 
ter with an expression of countenance that baffled the vis- 
count’s penetration to decipher. I am wanted desperate 
bad down at the West Meadow; and my hands are over 
rough for handling any thing delicate. Besides I might 
forget it when I was going about, as them things aint 
much in my way, and lay it down by the hay rick, or in 
the cow house, or somewhere; and then Miss Emma would 
be so vexed, and Missus would never let me liear the .last 
of it. Master Edward and Miss Emma would be so glad 
to see you too; and I am sure Master Edward worked for 
your lordship all the time of the election, as hard as a nig- 
ger; and he might take it unkind, being so near the house 
as this, if you did not go on; and so might Miss Emma too, 
you being Sir Thomas’s peticklar friend. It ain’t many 
steps if you cuts across to the right; and so down the shrub- 
bery, and into the sitting room, which is much your lord- 
ship’s best way, for almost all the servants are off to the 
chairing, and those left at home are very busy as I hears, 
cleaning or something; and you might not get the bell an- 
swered; so you had much better go that w^ay my lord; and 
1 know Master Edward will be pleased, thinking it friendly; 
and you can say, that I told you. And so begging pardon 
for my boldness I wishes you good morning, my lord; for 
I must be off,” added the bailiff, departing abruptly with 
a low bow, lest the viscount should rebel if allowed time 
for consideration. 

“ It is rather an odd proceeding, but Flinter must bear the 
blame,” was the viscount’s thought, as with a half smile at 
the bailiff’s eccentricity he turned in the direction pointed 
out. 

Aye, I know’d he would go as I told him,” said Flin- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


169 


ter to himself, as he watched the viscount proceeding to- 
wards the house, peeping round the tree behind which he 
had ensconced himself for the purpose of observation, in- 
stead of going to the West Meadow, where he was wanted 
so desperate bad. “ I knew how it would turn out, though 
he don’t guess who he is a going to see. Not Miss Em- 
ma — nor Master Edward; for they are walked down to 
Captain Wilder’s, and-Master Edward won’t come away 
in a hurry from there I guesses. Ah! there is something 
doing there, if it ain’t done already; a second wedding, or 
my name is not Thomas Flinter; and if Miss Cecil is in the 
sitting room all alone as I left her not long since, I should 
not wonder if there was to be a third wedding. I do like 
weddings; they makes people so merry; and so did poor 
Bessy, though she died afore we were married, poor thing; 
but I always helps on a wedding for her sake. But then 
some people are so odd about these matters (gentlefolks 
in petiklar) that there is no knowing how to help them. 
Now I did not dare tell rny lord that Miss Clare was in the 
sitting room, for I have often remarked that as sure as ever 
I told him that she was gone to the right, as sartain sure 
was he off to the left; and yet I do believe all the time that 
he would have given his little finger, aye and his thumb 
too, to have been by her side. 1 suppose lords and ladies 
don’t manage these things as we do; may-hap it would be 
better if they did. If gentlemen spoke plain out as I did 
to Bessy, when I said — ‘ Bessy, my dear, will you take 
me for better, for worse,’ as the parson says, the young 
galls would know what to do, instead of which they stands 
about shilly, shally, speaking as no one can comprehend; 
and then no wonder if the galls says no; galls always do at 
first. There is a something crossed in their loves that I 
sees, though I can’t make out what it is; and so can’t set it 
to rights; but I hopes the viscount will set it to rights him- 
self, now that I have given him the opportunity; and I may 
as well keep near the house just to prevent people from 
interrupting them, if he should find Miss Cecil.” 

Such was the termination of Flinter’s soliloquy as he 
followed the viscount at a distance which precluded his 
being observed. 

The morning sitting room at Ashton Grove looked out 
VoL. II.— 15 


170 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


on the lawn, and Lord Filz Elwyn was on the point of 
stepping in at the open window, which was down to the 
ground, when the sight of a female seated before a work- 
table at the other window, and at such an angle that he 
could mark her every movement without being himself ob- 
served, arrested his purpose. 

Cecil Clare had not gone to grace Mr. Fleetwood’s tri- 
umph. There she was alone in the sitting room just where 
Flinler had left her a short time before; and his heart beat 
wildly at the sight. She was looking thin and wretched; 
much altered since he had last beheld her, now some 
weeks, except at church, where her veil was always down 
and her face averted. There was not a tint of the rose on 
her hollow cheek; and her large dark eyes were dim and 
» heavy; her lips — those lips round which had formerly played 
such witching smiles — were then white and compressed, as 
if to bar the involuntary utterance of complaint. Hers was 
a look of sorrow not of triumph; Fleetwood’s victory was 
no source of joy to her. 

She would have preferred remaining in her own room, 
feeling ill fitted for society; but some household arrange- 
ments of Mrs. Ashton’s, touching the change of curtains 
and chair covers, had driven her from its seclusion; a cir- 
cumstance the less regretted as she knew that Edward and 
Emma would not return for some time, probably not till 
dinner; and she had given strict orders that no visitors 
were to be admitted should any call, which was not proba- 
ble on the day of chairing. 

It was this certainty of being alone and free from all 
chance of interruption that had caused the look of suflering, 
which had so struck and pained Fitz Elwyn. 

Believing herself safe from all observation, she had al- 
lowed her thoughts to dwell on the past and present till 
those thoughts had charactered her features with a touching 
sadness, tracing the history of the bitter pangs she had so 
struggled to conceal. Mrs. Ashton, who appeared to think 
with Watts (and 1 at least will not pronounce her judgment 
wrong) 

“ That Satan still for idle hands 
Will find some work to do,” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


171 


was fond of taxing Cecil’s good nature in repairing brace- 
lets, collars, screens, &c.; and had this morning given her 
a necklace with the entreaty that she would set it to rights 
for her. 

'rhere lay the necklace on the table before her untouched, 
imthought of, till the mind, shrinking from the torrent of 
painful recollections that came rushing over it, turned for 
relief to outward objects and mechanical occupations. 
Breaking off the painful train of thought with a deep sigh, 
she began threading her needle with a hurried motion, and 
trembling hand, that showed how disturbing had been her 
reverie; then taking up her necklace, she set herself reso- 
lutely to repair it, determined to think no more. Alas! for 
the determinations of a maiden in love. 

Some beads were required to complete her work, and to 
procure these she opened a small jewel box that stood be- 
fore her. The beads she sought were not at the top. She 
raised the tray to look beneath; and all her resolutions not 
to think were broken on the instant. There lay the brace- 
let won at the archery; and beside it, on a thick bed of 
wool, a ring with two doves made of spun glass, one of 
those pretty trifles that are given to, or bought by the com- 
pany lured by puffs or entreaties to go and admire the skill 
of the spinner, and the ductility of the material. 

It would have been held frail and worthless in the eyes 
of many; but what value cannot feeling confer on the mean- 
est trifle! there was a period when Cecil would not have 
exchanged that brittle, worthless circlet of glass for the 
jeweled stomacher of Princess Esterhazy, and the dia- 
dems of all the reigning queens, and the sultan’s harem be- 
sides: but time had brought some change to her feelings, 
and the first glance caught of that valueless bauble caused 
a shock and a shudder. Then she turned to the bracelet 
which she took from its resting place and held before her, 
gazing on it for some minutes with a fixed and steady gaze, 
the contraction on her lofty brow growing deeper and 
deeper, the color of her colorless lip more marked and 
scornful. Tears, large glistening tears came into her eyes 
as she continued to gaze; and there they stood restrained 
from falling by maidenly pride; — not one rolled down her 
cheek — not one fell on the bracelet ia her hand, 


173 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


She did not attempt to clear her sight — she would not 
admit even to herself that her sight was dimmed; so on she 
gazed through her blinding tears, thinking and feeling more 
than seeing. She needed not sight — every cameo on that 
hateful bauble was too deeply engraven on her mind by 
painful recollections ever to be forgotten. 

At length her eyes rested more heedfully on one; — 
it was a beautiful Ariadne; she who had loved so truly, 
and followed him she loved from her father’s land — her fa- 
ther’s home — willing to have no country and no home but 
his, whom she had loved and saved. Yet she, the trusting, 
the devoted had been left desolate! with nothing to assuage 
her woe but the soft murmur of the sea that bore her faith- 
less lover far away. It was a lovely face, and the artist 
with admirable skill had blended in its expression the hopes 
of the still trusting, loving heart, with the awakened feeling 
of doubt — the growing conviction of her desertion. 

At first the features of the gazer told only of sorrow — 
hopeless, yet patient sorrow; but gradually there gathered 
a sterner expression; as she thought whose hand should 
have clasped that bracelet on her arm; and then the indig- 
nant blood rushed up to her temples, and she flung the 
hateful bauble on the floor with a sudden burst of passion, 
her lips wreathing into a scornful smile as it fell at her feet. 

“ There lies one token of false vows — another shall soon 
lie beside thee,” she exclaimed. 

Her hand grasped the ring of brittle glass with desperate 
energy she raised it on high — an instant more and it would 
have been dashed to the ground, and broken to atoms; but 
the doves caught her attention, and all her pride passed 
away at the sight. She saw before her, in her fancy, him 
who had placed it on her finger — she felt his touch — she 
heard his silver tones. Cecil was again the loving, trusting 
girl — such was the might of memory; and the ring, instead 
of being cast on the earth in scorn, was pressed to her lips 
as she murmured in strong emotion: — 

“ He is false who gave thee, but I cannot trample on his 
gift.’’ 

“ Not false, dear Cecil! but true and devoted as ever! — • 
Who could have made you think me false?” cried the agi- 
tated Fitz Elwyn, springing forwards at her words, and 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


173 


throwing himself at her feet, every feature glowing with 
love and hope. 

A faint scream of mingled joy and surprise burst from 
the startled Cecil as their eyes met. Then she thought 
of her woman’s dignity, and tried to rise and withdraw 
her hand from his grasp — to bid him depart; but the pas- 
sionate pleadings of affection were not to be heard un- 
moved by one who had pledged fo him her maiden truth; 
her hands unconsciously lingered in his', as with crimson 
blushes and downcast eyes she listened to his vows of 
never changing regard. 

“ And now, dear Cecil, that I have again told my love, 
will you not bless me with the hope of a return? Will 
you not say at least, that you regret the harsh — the cruel 
letter that drove me to despair?” 

Letter! I wrote no letter,” said Cecil in surprise. 

“ Not with your own hand; but then you sanctioned 
what your father wrote.” 

“ What can you mean? I know of no letter from my 
father; and llierefore could have sanctioned none.” 

“ Might I believe this, Cecil, how happy would it make 
me; but I cannot be mistaken in your father’s writing. I 
know it alas! too well; and his subsequent manner con- 
firmed the impression conveyed by his words.” 

“ There must have been some mistake in this,” said 
Cecil for one moment raising her eyes to his. “ When 
we parted at the glass spinner’s rooms your last words 
were — ” 

“ But not my first, sweet Cecil, they did not offend you — 
you did not think them too presumptuous at the time,” said 
Fitz Elwyn interrupting her. 

“We will speak of your last words first,” replied Cecil 
softly, looking down with a deeper blush. “ You said we 
should meet again at Mrs. Pendril’s fete — yet you were not 
there; but was seen driving a young lady in your stanhope, 
on the Everton road, thus proving that no military duty de- 
tained you from keeping your word. 

“ The married daughter of my father’s oldest friend to 
whom he is so highly indebted. I hoped my letter men- 
tioning the unlooked for arrival of himself and family, and 
containing an open declaration of my love, with a lover’s 

15 * 


174 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


passionate pleading for a return, would have satisfied you 
of iny desire to keep the engagement, though it could not 
console me for being compelled to break it. Was it pique 
then that dictated your answer? Could you believe me cold 
or fickle after my declaration at the glass spinner’s, when, 
the attention of the rest of the party being fully occupied, I 
found a moment to reveal my hopes?’ 

“ I never received that letter.” 

“ Is it possible? my servant gave it to the butler.” 

“ It was never delivered to me. And yet you say you 
had an answer.” 

“Yes, from your father, purporting to be written by your 
desire; taxing me with presumption in seeking your hand, 
and assuring me that he and you had higher views than a 
mere Captain of Dragoons, 

“ I knew nothing of this; and you should not have ima- 
gined that I could sanction such a letter,” replied Cecil 
proudly, hurt at his readiness to believe her capable of mer- 
cenary, or ambitious projects. 

“ Do not blame me for this, dear Cecil. If you could tell 
the agony, that letter caused, you would pity not condemn 
me. When my anger had somewhat subsided, for anger 
mingled with my grief, my pride gave place to love; and 
I resolved to believe that your wishes had not been consult- 
ed by the writer of that insulting letter. I wrote to you 
again; and to make sure, my servant delivered this second 
letter into the hands of your own maid; but the ensuing day 
it was returned in an envelope, containing a few lines from 
Mr. Clare, staling that your resolution remained unaltered; 
and that you must now decline all further acquaintance, as 
well as correspondence. The terms of rejection were too 
galling to allow of my making any further attempt to move 
you; and as I met you no where during the few days that 
my regiment remained in the neighborhood, I had no means 
of contrasting 5mur manner with your words.” 

“ Neither of your letters reached me, and their answers 
were returned without my knowledge; but I can now under- 
stand the then unintelligible self-reproaches of Taylor, 
when during her illness I took the nurse’s place for a time 
by her bed side. IShe muttered something which I could 
not distinctly catch, about a letter withheld and secrecy; but 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


175 


I thought her still delirious. I remember also having a 
slight cold at the time, and being in consequence forbidden 
by my father to leave the house, who even talked of change 
of air. When I again went out you were gone to the south 
with your troop.” ’ ^ 

“ Then you acquit me of all blame, dear Cecil.” 

“I blame myself for blaming you,” replied the blushing 
girl with a frankness that made her still dearer to the heart 
of the ardent lover, who was thereby encouraged to greater 
boldness. 

“ May I not hope, then, Cecil, dearest, best, that had 
those letters reached you, the answers would have deen dif- 
ferent? Do not say, no,” he pleaded, seeing that she hesi- 
tated. “My happiness hangs on your words.” 

“I will not say — no,” she added softly, trembling and 
looking down. 

“Bless you! my Cecil, for this noble candor,” exclaimed 
the enraptured Fitz Elwyn. “ No one shall part us now. 
W^ho was the cruel foe who parted us before? I have cause 
to hate — ” 

“ No, no; do not hate him,” cried Cecil earnestly, her 
blushes gone and her cheek turning to a deadly white. “ It 
must have bfeen my father — it could have been no other; my 
mother esteemed you highly. Satisfied with the many proofs 
of my dear father’s fond affection, I never suspected what I 
have since learnt from the malicious remarks of strangers, 
that he sought a splendid alliance for his child; I only 
thought he sought my happiness. Alas! Alas! how little 
did he think that she whom he desired should wear a coro- 
net, would in so short a space become an orphan and a 
beggar: houseless — friendless! He is gone now, oh! let 
me love him still!” 

“I wfill not hate him for your sake, sweet love, but judge 
him kindly. Let us talk of other things,” said Fitz Elwyn 
soothingly, respecting a daughter’s feelings, and anxious to 
spare her all painful emotion. “I must have more expla- 
nations, and more confessions, he added gaily, “ why did 
you meet me as a stranger at Alum Bay, since those letters 
did not speak your sentiments?” 

“ Nay, my lord, that was your choice not mine; and I 
can call Sir Thomas Willerton to bear witness against you. 


176 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


You refused to introduce him to me on the plea of non-ac- 
quaintance. Do not deny it: — I overheard him say so,” 
answered Cecil, controlling her emotion and endeavoring to 
reply with a gaiety equal to his own. 

“That was Willerton’s mistake; he merely inferred that 
we were strangers, from my declining to introduce him, 
pettishly, I admit; for his light joyous mood jarred on my 
deeper feelings. I had those letters declining all further 
acquaintance to excuse me; but one word from you would 
have brought me to your feet again.” 

“That word, suffer what I would, should never have 
been spoken. Had not your sudden appearance and abrupt 
declaration of unchanged regard surprised me into a con- 
fession, my long hidden secret would have remained un- 
known; and my manner continued cold and formal. I was 
the reputed heiress of thousands — some thought of millions, 
when you first wooed; but when we met at Alum Bay you 
were rich, and I a beggar; you the son of an earl, and I 
but the daughter of a ruined merchant; and I had lately 
learnt from the Fords how the world looked upon me. Was 
it for me to dispute your assertion that we were strangers; to 
remind you by look or word of a time when you had sought 
to be more even than a friend? Besides, before quitting 
Ashton Grove I was assured of your engagement to another, 
your equal in rank and fortune. You were not as you had 
promised at Mrs. Pendril’s fete — you left the country with- 
out any explanation. What could I suppose, but that some 
rumor of my father’s misfortunes had reached you ere they 
were known to himself, and that you had transferred your 
attentions to one who stood high in the world’s estimation?” 

“And did you — could you believe this?” asked Fitz 
Elwyn reproachfully. 

“I tried to believe it,” replied Cecil looking down. 

“ But you could not succeed, Cecil? Say this — say that 
in spite of my fancied estrangement and falsehood — my sel- 
fish, cruel coldness, for such it must have seemed, you loved 
me still. Will you not say this, love?” 

Cecil was silent; but she did not chide him, when he 
interpreted that silence as he wished, and thanked her ac- 
cordingly. 

“ Willerton has been the unconscious cause of misery to 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


177 


both,” he continued. “ That very evening he declared his 
happiness to be so entirely dependent on winning your 
hand, that though rather incredulous as to the endurance of 
such a sudden passion, I was checked in my intentions of an 
explanation; and your manner towards him confirmed me in 
my silence and reserve. To save myself from the pangs of 
jealousy, and the temptation to supplant my friend, I shun- 
ned your society as much as possible; and till yesterday 
believed you to be the object of his attachment, whilst he 
still imagines me prepossessed against you from the general 
coldness of my demeanor. I now find that you uniformly 
checked the development of any feeling warmer than friend- 
ship. I have been miserable, when I might have been 
happy; and will not assert that pride may not have ruled 
me as much as reason. ^We have been playing at cross 
purposes, when one word, one look might have set us 
straight. And this bracelet too,” he continued taking it 
from the ground. “ You must have seen my eagerness to 
win the prize, jealous that any other should clasp it on 
your arm; and yet you permitted another to deprive me of 
the pleasure of bestowing it on you, which I had so ear- 
nestly sought.” 

“ I understood from Sir Thomas Willerton that it was on 
Lady Barbara’s arm you desired to clasp the bracelet; and 
it was not for me to dispute your wishes on that point.” 

“Another misconception of Willerton’s. I only submit- 
ted reluctantly to the transfer to gratify him; and according 
to his statement — you. Lady Barbara Hetherton neither 
is, nor ever has been more to me than a handsome woman 
of fashion; pleasant enough for an hour, but not one with 
whom I would pass my life. Robbed before of my privi- 
lege — I claim it now. Nay, sweet one, you shall not deny 
me,” he added with a lover’s playful peremptoriness, re- 
taining the trembling hand till the bracelet was clasped 
above it. “And this ring too — you must let me replace it 
there, where I fitted it so many months ago; and you must 
not move it either, my own Cecil, let what will come to 
pass, till I redeem it with the magic golden circlet that 
makes you mine for ever. Promise me this, love; nay, do 
not look so doubtingly; promise me this, and 1 will be the 
most patient and submissive of lovers.” 


178 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“ Who will stand surety for your patience and submis- 
sion?” said the blushing Cecil, with one of the bright smiles 
of her brighter days. Then the smile suddenly passed; 
and she added in a doubtful tone; “ but Lord Lindmoor 
and the countess — what will they say? I am poor now, 
and I have heard that they wish you to wed another — to 
wed with wealth.” 

Fitz Elwyn started, and a cloud overshadowed his radi- 
ant hopes. Her words recalled him from the blissful pre- 
sent to the forbidding past — the doubtful future. Not four 
and twenty hours since his mother had declared that no- 
thing would induce the earl to consent to his union with 
the proud merchant’s prouder daughter; and he had assured 
the countess that nothing would induce him to make a sec- 
ond offer; yet now he was the accepted lover of Cecil 
Clare. What would his father say? what would his mo- 
ther think? He should have thought of this before. 

Cecil marked his sudden change; and her own manner 
changed as suddenly. Her glowing blushes died away, as 
she w ithdrew her hand from his. Her voice was low but 
steady; and not the voice of one who did not feel, but of 
one who could, and would command her feelings. 

“ Do not attempt in fjmcied kindness to deceive me — do 
not attempt to deceive yourself: I see by your manner that 
my doubts — my fears if you w ill — are not misplaced. Hur- 
ried away by a sudden impulse you have acted imprudent- 
ly; but yet there is time to repair that imprudence. You 
are an only child, and it would be cruel to cross the wishes 
of such affectionate parents. Forget all that has passed; 
and for the future think of me only as a friend. Beggar as 
I am, I was to blame in permitting yon to indulge in other 
hopes. I give you back your vows; and with them my 
most earnest prayers for your future happiness.” 

“ No, Cecil, no; you cannot give them back if you would; 
they are registered in heaven. This is a most cruel gene- 
rosity,” exclaimed Fitz Elwyn passionately, recovering 
from his momentary gloom. “ Do you not love me, Cecil?” 
he inquired reproachfully. 

“ I seek your happiness, and that — ” 

“ Can only be secured by a union with you,” he added 
closing the sentence. “ Dismiss these doubts, dear lovej 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


179 


blessed with your affection all other obstacles would soon 
be overcome. I will not say that at the present moment 
iiiy parents would select you from all the world to become 
my bride, for they believe you acquiesced in those hateful 
letters, but when they have heard my explanations they 
will receive you gladly. Do not doubt me,” he added see- 
ing that she still looked mistrustful; and so powerfully did 
he plead for belief that Cecil no longer feared, but allowed 
him to indulge in all a lover’s hopes. 

He would speak to his parents that night; and they 
should come on the morrow to give their sanction to his 
claims. He saw — he would see nothing that should cloud 
their felicity. 

“ Umph! It is all right, as I thought it would be,” mut- 
tered Flinter to himself with a triumphant chuckle, as peep- 
ing cautiously into the sitting-room, unobserved by its in- 
mates, he saw Lord Fitz Elwyn seated beside Cecil Clare, 
looking on her as only lovers look when vowing undying 
affection, and all that sort of thing. “ Yes, yes; there will 
be a third wedding; and it is I, old stupid, churlish, Tho- 
mas Flinter who have brought it about; and missus have not 
an inkling of the matter, though she purtends to know every 
thing;” and again the honest bailiff chuckled more triumph- 
antly tlian before, missus’s not having an inkling of the 
matter, seeming the most glorious part of the victory. 

The lovers did not separate till startled by the dressing 
bell. 

“ What is this?” asked Edward on returning from his 
visit with Emma, taking up Willerton’s packet from the 
carpet, where Fitz Elwyn had unconsciously let it fall, and 
thoughtlessly allowed it to remain. 

“ I do not know,” replied Cecil briefly. 

“ Who could have brought it?” inquired Emma tearing 
open the cover, so as not to destroy one single letter of the 
baronet’s tracing. 

“ Perhaps Lord Fitz Elwyn,” said Cecil in a very low 
voice, looking most pertinaciously out of the window. 

“ I think he might have placed it on the table, instead of 
throwing it on the floor,” remarked Emma pettishly, indig- 
nant at such treatment of a parcel from her lover. 

“ I suspect he was thinking of something far more im- 


180 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


portant in his eyes,” observed Edward archly, for a fellow 
feeling not only makes us “ wondrous kind;” but wondrous 
knowing too. “ I do not ask any questions, Cecil, though 
I am quite in the dark; nor will I give a hint to others; hut 
this I will say that I know not Fitz Elwyn’s equal nor any 
woman more worthy of him than yourself.” 

“ Why, what is all this about?” asked Emma in amaze- 
ment, having shared in the baronet’s belief of a mutual dis- 
like between the viscount and her friend. 

“ You are a simpleton, Emma. Do you suppose that 
no one can have a lover but yourself?” observed her laugh- 
ing brother. 

“ Oh! no, I know better than that from Helen Wilder,” 
replied his sister with a mischievous look, which silenced 
his raillery. “But you Cecil — ” 

“ Am as happy as yourself, dear Emma; so come and 
dress,” said Cecil, placing her arm affectionately within 
hers, and carrying her off. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


181 


CHAPTER XII. 

“From Lord Lindmoor, sir; no answer,” said the ser- 
vant on the following morning presenting a letter to Mr. 
Ashton, who, after ascertaining that it contained an enclo- 
sure with a few lines in the envelope, laid it quietly beside 
him on the breakfast table. 

“A letter from the earl of Lindmoor so early in the 
morning! Dear me, what can it be about? Do pray open 
it,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton in a prodigious fuss. 

“ 'I’here will be plenty of time, when I have finished my 
breakfast,” replied her husband with most provoking pa- 
tience. 

“ That is just like you, Mr. Ashton; you never will do 
any thing at once; always for wailing. I should not won- 
der if it were of great importance. Oh, Cecil! what are 
you at?” screamed Mrs. Ashton, interrupted in her conju- 
gal lecture by the strange proceedings of her guest. “ I 
handed my cup for a little more cream; and you have 
poured in half the contents of the mustard pot.” 

“ Have I?” stammered poor Cecil. 

The discordant scream — the ludicrous dismay of Mrs. 
Ashton — and the simple reply of the confused culprit, were 
irresistible. Charles was in fits of laughter — all Edward’s 
and Emma’s sympathy for the delinquent could not entirely 
check their mirth; and even quiet Mr. Ashton was surprised 
into a sly smile. Robert alone sat silent and grave, whilst 
a heavy frown was gathering on his brow. Cecil felt that. 
his eye was on her, and ventured one hasty look, a look 
bespeaking his sympathy for her, and speaking hers for 
him. 

She had wished him to know of her late explanation with 
the viscount from herself; but this, his late return the night 
before, and tardy rising had prevented. She saw that he 
VoL. II.— 16 


182 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


guessed the truth, and was deeply pained. And what was 
the truth? A letter with an enclosure to Mr. Ashton from 
the earl of Lindmoor, instead of a note or visit to herself 
from Lord Filz Elwyn, as he had promised. What was 
she to think? What might she not have to fear? 

“You are in love, Cecil. I am sure you are in love,” 
cried Charles, relapsing into a second fit of merriment. 

“Ahl 1 dare say that is it,” observed Mrs. Ashton, her 
thoughts again recurring to Mr. Fleetwood, since the baro- 
net was to have Emma. “Our new member looked un- 
commonly well yesterday, I can tell you; and bowed and 
spoke most gracefully, though he was dreadfully disap- 
pointed at your absence. But how woefully pale you are 
looking; and just now you were as red as a tiger-flower. 
Never mind about my tea, my dear, Emma has set it 'all to 
rights again; and I did not mean to say any thing to vex 
you. But you are taking no breakfast; and your hand is 
shaking like an old man’s of seventy. You are sadly ner- 
vous, 1 must take you in charge again, 'i'his election has 
kept me in such a bustle that I have not had time to think 
of any thing. And bless me Robert you look as white 
as Cecil, and eat no more. What is the matter ,with you 
all?” 

“ If you had had such hard work during the election, 
and been up as late last night as I was, you would look 
pale too, my dear mother, and as for Cecil, depend upon 
it she has taken too many of your drops. I have no opi- 
nion of their efficacy; and always said you would dose 
her to death.” 

“They are excellent drops. They cured Richard Sims, 
and Betty Prosser, after they had been given over by the 
doctor; but you never will hear reason, Robert. These 
drops — ” and on went Mrs. Ashton lauding her favorite 
specific as her son had expected, thus saving him and Cecil 
from further observation. 

“I must claim your assistance Cecil, to solve a difficult 
passage in Dante,” said Mr. Ashton, rising to leave the 
breakfast table before the conclusion of the panegyrick on 
the drops. 

“1 will do my best,” replied Cecil following her host 
into his study with faltering steps. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


183 


“Take a seat, Cecil; for in spite of the drops you are 
not very strong,” said Mr. Ashton with a kindly smile, 
placing her in his own arm chair. 

“1 dare say you guess my purpose in bringing you into 
my study. Here is a letter from Lord Lindmoor, which 
he requests me to deliver to you, adding that he has no 
doubt you will inform me of its purport. You can read it 
wliilst I arrange these books,” he continued turning away 
as he concluded that she might feel herself free from obser- 
vation, some hints (during a morning stroll from Flinter) 
who could not retain his triumph at the success of his plot, 
and in the depth of his penetration, having placed him au 
com ant du jour. 

A deep sigh from Cecil as she concluded the perusal of 
the letter recalled him to her side. 

“ I fear the contents are not what you hoped,” he re- 
marked with a father’s feeling, as he gazed on her pallid 
features, and the convulsive working of her lips. “ I would 
not force myself on your confidence, my dear Cecil, but 
your poor mother bequeathed you to my care; and I think 
you do not doubt my wish to perform all the duties of a 
guardian.” 

“ I have already received more kindness from you and 
yours, Mr. Ashton, than I can ever repay, and liave no 
desire for concealment,” answered Cecil, placing the letter 
in his hands. 

Its contents explained her emotion; the earl declined the 
connection for his son, on the plea of her poverty, and the 
conduct of the Ashtons during the election. The politeness 
of the terms in which this rejection was conveyed, left no 
room for offence; and the decided tone of that rejection left 
no hope of a future change. 

A title he said required wealth for its support, which his 
son had not, and therefore must seek, and the determined 
part taken by the Ashtons against that son at the election, 
must make a marriage with one so closely connected with 
them a source of constant embarrassment. She had his 
best wishes for her future happiness. 

“ He was too sanguine yesterday, and T should have 
known it. To-day he acquiesces in his father’s decision, 


184 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


as his silence proves,” was the thought of the half fainting 
Cecil. 

She looked on the ring with its twining doves, and re- 
membered his vows of unclianging regard;— his protesta- 
tions that nothing should prevent their union. Had he so 
soon forgotten those vows? Was his duty as a son to ren- 
der void so immediately the protestations of the lover? 
Scarcely twelve hours passed, and cooled so soon? Had 
she been only cheated into happiness for a while to be 
thrown back into a deeper woe? Was he fickle and false? 
No, no; shame upon her for the suspicion! Perhaps he was 
pleading even now — at least he would call or send. But 
had he loved as she believed, would he not have called or 
sent before, to soften the earl’s refusal? 

“ Rely on me, dear Cecil; believe that I will do all that a 
father should do,” said Mr. Ashton, sitting down beside 
her, and taking her cold hand in his. 

“ I cannot — do not doubt your kindness,” answered 
Cecil, starting at the voice, soothing and pitying as it was, 
which had thus disturbed her train of painful thought. 

“ But you must tell me all, my child; or I cannot judge 
how best to act.” 

Tell hi;n all! Poor Cecil shuddered at the bare idea. 
How should she tell the ardent vows of former times, so 
strongly contrasted by the apparent coolness of to-day? 

The entrance of Emma precluded reply. 

“ Here is a letter for you, dear Cecil; and I think it 
brings good news,” whispered the affectionate girl, as she 
bent down to kiss the cold, white brow of her friend. 

Cecil’s glance of joy, as she recognised Fitz Elwyn’s 
writing, amply repaid her. But that gleam of joy was 
succeeded by a pang of disappointment. Why had he not 
come himself? Her doom would have been lightened if 
learnt from him. 

She tore open the note with trembling hands, and her 
eyes ran hastily over the contents. A bright glow came on 
her cheek as she read it over again; a second perusal being 
still more satisfactory than a first. 

It was dated the previous evening, and ought to have 
reached her long before the letter of the earl; but had been 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


185 


lying forgotten many hours in the waistcoat pocket of the 
foot-boy. 

“ He is not changed ! we shall yet be happy!” thought 
Cecil, as she turned with glistening eyes to Mr. Ashton, in 
the first impulse of her joy holding out the letter, then 
withdrawing it with a deeper blush, yet finally leaving it in 
his hands as a justification of his lordship and herself; but 
keeping her eyes upon him the while he read it, and re- 
claiming it the moment he had concluded its perusal, though 
sadly confused by his smile so arch, and yet so quiet. 

The viscount had been called away the preceding evening 
to attend the deathbed, as it was supposed, of his old tutor, 
to whom he was much attached, and his letter was, in con- 
sequence, short and hurried; but still, every line was full of 
the most generous and devoted affection. He admitted that 
his parents had raised more objections than he had antici- 
pated, yet he spoke not only hopefully, but decidedly of 
overcoming all those objections on his return, imploring 
her to feel no doubt on the subject; but to rely on the 
strength of his attachment, which neither time nor circum- 
stances could weaken or destroy. He would wed her or 
none. The letter closed with entreaties that she would be 
careful of her health for his sake, and some loverlike pretli- 
ness of how long the hours would seem till he should look 
upon her face again. 

As a proof of his unchanged regard this was very deci- 
sive, and very delightful, and at first she thought of nothing 
else; but still there was the admitted fact that his parents 
objected, and his very protestations of unchanging regard in 
all times and circumstances — his declarations that he would 
never wed another, all seemed to her sensitive delicacy, 
when her thoughts were once turned to the subject, to hint 
a doubt of ever overcoming his father’s repugnance to their 
union. 

She read the earl’s letter again, and this painful idea grew 
into a conviction. That letter had been written some hours 
after his son’s, and appeared to have been purposely worded 
so as to crush any hopes which the viscount’s hurried note 
might induce her to cherish. 

If the son was resolved to win his suit — the father was 
equally resolved not to grant it. The son said his father 

16 * 


186 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


had too much affection to destroy his happiness by opposi- 
tion; — the father said he had too much real regard for his 
son to yield to his imprudent wishes. 

Cecil’s fears grew stronger with thought; and she looked 
up into Mr. Ashton’s face to gather hope and consolation; 
but there was no hope or consolation there — only pity and 
sorrow. Her fears were more than confirmed; and a deeper 
sadness fell upon her. 

“I must know more of this before I can determine how 
to act,” he remarked after a painful silence. 

Cecil answered his ‘questions frankly, though not with- 
out embarrassment; and his look grew more hopeful and 
cheering. 

Fitz Elwyn’s affection was not a new and sudden senti- 
ment — it had been revealed and accepted in her prosperity, 
though Mr. Clare’s pride had checked its growth. A sort 
of engagement might be said to have existed between them 
only broken off by misconception, and surely this might be 
pleaded without offence; at any rate she was not called on 
to give up the viscount till she had seen or heard from him 
again, nor did she know how to address him had she de- 
sired to write. 

Mr. Ashton was slow in thought as in action; he had 
vague ideas of affecting a change in her favor, but he re- 
quired time to methodise his plans. That he felt for her 
and with her could not be doubted, for her sorrow reminded 
him of his early affection for her mother; and that remem- 
brance always moved him; but still it was impossible for 
such a placid temper as his to enter fully into the feelings 
of such a being as Cecil Clare, who, to the trusting affec- 
tion of her mother, united the constancy and energy of her 
father. He could comprehend the nature of her suffering; 
but not its extent. 

She whom he had loved had married another, and he had 
soon after done the same, and passed through life with more 
than the average share of happiness; but Cecil was not like 
him; — she was one to set her fate upon a cast, and, should 
the die come up a blank, she could not throw again. She 
could give up Fitz Elwyn from generous motives or a sense 
of duty — she could pray for his happiness with another. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


187 


one more worthy; — she could even promote it, but a second 
attachment was not in her heart — was not in her nature. 

She liad sympathy and kindness for all around her; but 
the unselfish affection that would deem nothing fitting a 
Christian maiden too great a sacrifice to ensure the happi- 
ness of the one beloved, was given — and could not be 
transferred. Those who love lightly can change lightly; — 
those who love deeply, truly — cannot change. 

Mr. Ashton, though full of pity, could not comprehend 
one half of this; and his entreaties that she would keep 
herself calm and composed, as she quitted him to retire to 
her own room, if uttered with less real sympathy would 
have sounded like mockery. But her parting look so sad, 
and yet so patient, dwelt on his mind, troubling his placid 
mood. 

Mrs. Ashton having finished her breakfast, and given 
sundry orders touching the larder, the dairy, and the laundry, 
would have harassed her husband with questions respecting 
Lord Lind moor’s letter, had she not fortunately been occu- 
pied by a note from an elderly lady, who generally applied 
to her in all her difficulties, requesting her immediate pre- 
sence at Eastbrook Cottage about eight miles oft’, and 
concluding with an earnest hope that she would remain 
some day's', a request which was readily complied with, 
Mrs. Blackwood being a particular friend and favorite. 
Wonder at the cause of this sudden summons, and prepara- 
tions for the visit, drove the earl’s letter completely out of 
her head. 

“I wish to speak with you, Robert,” said Mr. Ashton, 
calling his son into his study, as soon as his lady had left 
the house. 

“What do. you want with me, sir?” inquired Robert 
coldly, after having so placed himself as to be sereened 
from his father’s observation. 

“ It is an awkward thing to do — but I want you to make 
a sacrifice,” replied Mr. Ashton, who found considerable 
difficulty in opening the subject. 

“An awkward thing to ask another to make a sacrifice 
for your own advantage? Oh! not at all, sir; it is a thing 
done every day in the great world, without any scruple; 
the sole difference being that the question is not put so 


188 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


plainly to the victim, but that comes of your country sim- 
plicity; the only really awkward thing is in making a sac- 
rifice yourself.” 

“I request no sacrifice for my own advantage, Robert; 
and would willingly make any in my power,” replied Mr. 
Ashton reprovingly, hurt at his son’s manner. 

“Then such a course would be very ill-advised, and con- 
trary to all established rules, sir; it would sink you full five 
fathom in the opinion of all men likely to get on in the 
world. I hope you do not expect me to show as much 
country simplicity.” 

“ 1 expect you to act generously, and thus make another 
happy,” observed his father still more gravely. 

“ It is very unlucky, sir, but I am in a most ungenerous 
mood this morning, so must really decline becoming a 
martyr,” said Robert rising to leave the room. 

“At least listen to me — that I can claim as a mark of 
respect due to a parent.” 

Robert resumed his seat in silence; there was that in his 
father’s manner that touched and controlled him — a mourn- 
ful earnestness which he had never seen before. 

Mr. Ashton cleared his voice with a preliminary hem, and 
then dashed into his tale at once. He knew .nothing of 
lengthening a story, but always made it as short as he 
could. 

“ It seems Cecil and Lord Fitz Elwyn were friends, and 
more than friends in former days, when she was rich, and 
he poor; but Mr. Clare, seeking a higher match for his 
child, broke off the engagement; and as he believed the at- 
tachment, by intercepting the viscount’s letters and return- 
ing a scornful refusal in his daughter’s name. Each feeling 
wounded, met the other coldly, and misconception widened 
their estrangement; but accident yesterday brought about an 
explanation, and Lord Fitz Elwyn left the house an accept- 
ed lover. The viscount was called away last night by the 
dangerous illness of his tutor; and this morning came a let- 
ter from Lord Lindmoor declining the alliance on the plea 
of Cecil’s want of fortune, and our opposition to his son 
during the election.” 

“ And Lord Fitz Elwyn by his silence acquiesces in his 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


189 


father’s decision,” observed Robert with ill-snppressed tri- 
umph, after perusing the earl’s letter. 

“ No; the viscount wrote before his departure, though in 
consequence of some mistake, the letter did not reach Cecil 
till after breakfast.” 

“ Where is the viscount’s letter?” demanded Robert im- 
patiently. 

“ In Cecil’s care of course; that was not a letter to be 
shown every one.” 

“ I suppose not, sir,” remarked his son with a sneer. 
“ Did you see it?” 

“ Yes: she showed it to me as her friend and guardian, 
to clear her lover from the suspicion of neglect or cold- 
ness.” 

“ And what might this lover’s letter contain?” asked Ro- 
bert with an ironical emphasis on the word lover. 

“ Regrets at his forced absence — assurances that he should 
find little difficulty in overcoming his father’s opposition — 
entreaties that she would guard her health for his sake — and 
protestations of un — ” 

“ Ay, unchanging aflection — devotion — admiration — and 
other lover-like nonsense. I know what all that means,” 
observed Robert interrupting his father. “ Such things are 
nothing; of course men must put them in, or women are 
not satisfied; a little couleur de rose — a delicate tint of flat- 
tery will not suffice; you must use vermillion, and lay it 
on rich, that is with a trowel. Their cry is ever like the 
painter David’s; “ grind up more red.” But I wonder that 
Lord Fitz Elwyn so high and lofty should have stooped to 
such folly; or that Miss. Clare, who shows more good sense 
than most of her sex in many things, should receive it gra- 
ciously; but reason and love are mutual enemies I believe; 
too decidedly opposed to each other to dwell in the same 
mind; as easily might the Antipodes stand hand in hand, or 
wing to wing, like cherubs on a tomb stone. It is odd that 
women who must see change going on in every thing around 
them, ay, even in themselves, tacitly admitted by their anx- 
iety to hide that change from others by glossy tresses and 
similar falsities, should make such a fuss about unchanging 
love. Pooh! there is change in every thing, and every 


190 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


body; and unchanging love in later years would be falsehood 
to the object of our youthful affection.” 

“ You are in one of your singular humors this morning, 
Robert; and there will be no use in attempting to put you 
right,” remarked Mr. Ashton, who detested the trouble of 
an argument, particularly with his son, whose quickness 
and sarcasm never left him a chance of victory; yet that 
son’s manner was so irritating, that if any thing could have 
provoked him into a dispute he would have disputed on the 
present occasion. “ What do you think of Lord Lind- 
moor’s letter? — that is more to the purpose.” 

“ A very proper, prudent letter; — just such as a reason- 
able man should have written; and perfectly conclusive to 
all reasonable readers.” 

“ Conclusive of what?” 

“ Conclusive, not only of the prudence, but of the 
strength of the earl’s resolution never to receive Miss Clare 
as his daughter-in-law.” 

“ Yet Lord Fitz Elwyn thinks differently, as I told you 
before,” observed Mr. Ashton, annoyed at his son’s reck- 
less manner. 

“ Pooh! pooh! my dear father; you must understand 
what that means. A man in the viscount’s situation could 
not do otherwise than vow and protest; but Cecil with her 
good sense must comprehend the worth of these protesta- 
tions, which are only employed to soften the blow to her, 
and lay the blame of breaking off the match on his father.^’ 

“ But the earl’s letter was written after his son’s.” 

“ And therefore settles the point. Cecil is too high 
minded to enter any family unwilling to receive her; and 
must feel that she can never become Lady Fitz Elwyn. Of 
course she will regret this at first, for it would be pleasant 
to become a viscountess; and she will shed a few tears in 
secret, and look pale and interesting for a short lime: then 
his lordship will marry Lady Barbara Hetherton — Cecil 
wed Mr. Somebody else; and the ex-lovers will dance to- 
gether at the next county ball, and smile at their former ex- 
travagancies. A right merry termination of a sentimental 
affair.” 

“ I wish you would talk a little more rationally^ Robert. 
Neither Cecil nor Lord Fitz Elwyn will change lightly, as 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


191 


the viscount’s letter would convince any unprejudiced rea- 
der. Surely something might be done to soften Lord Lind- 
inoor’s repugnance to the union.” 

“ Don.e, my dear father! Surely Cecil would never sanc- 
tion such an indelicate proceeding! The earl is peremp- 
tory; and she must feel the propriety of submitting without 
a murmur,” replied Robert hurriedly, flirting the leaves of 
a book that lay on the table as he spoke. “ What could 
you possibly think of doing?” 

“ That is just what I wished to consult you about. To 
me the earl’s decision does not appear irrevocable. One 
of his objections is our conduct at the election. Now he 
can not blame me more than I blame myself, except that 
he considers that to have been wilful which was only the 
effect of indolence and bewilderment; and I will readily 
make an apology for my apparent want of delicacy and good 
feeling in turning the election against the viscount, after he 
had been acting such a generous and gallant part.” 

• “ Do sir, by all means; and you will be disbelieved by 

Lord Lindmoor, and despised by Fleetwood.” 

“ You are ruled by passion and not reason now, Robert. 
Truth will ever make itself believed; and as you well know 
I have ever regretted your hot interference which increased 
the difficulties of my position.” 

“ That is just and right, sir; lay all the blame upon me. 
I ought to have allowed you to have been pulled to pieces 
by the blues — it was a most undutiful act preventing your 
becoming a political martyr malgre vous. But supposing 
your abject apologies accepted, there still remains the most 
serious objection — namely the money. How do you pro- 
pose to get over that?” 

“ There is no chance of getting over it in your present 
temper, Robert; my hopes of your generosity it seems are 
vain. The earl may suppose as others have done, that Ce- 
cil is utterly destitute; and five thousand pounds might 
make some difference in his decision.” 

“Scarcely so paltry a sum I should think, sir. But 
where is the five thousand pounds to come from? I under- 
stand by the last accounts that she has little hope of receiv- 
ing more than three.” 

“ Such, Robert, are the last accounts; and to you only can 


192 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


I look to make up the deficiency. That is the portion of 
my younger children, secured by their mother’s settlement. 
In former days I loved Cecil’s mother, though we were 
parted by the interested views of her relations. I pro- 
mised Mrs. Clare on her death bed to regard Cecil as a 
daughter; and I would now, with your consent, secure her 
a daughter’s portion.” 

“ Do not count on my consent, sir; I will do nothing to 
promote her uuion with Lord Fitz Elwyn, whom 1 detest,” 
exclaimed Robert with passion, dashing down the book 
with the leaves of which he had been playing, with a vio- 
lence that surprised his father. 

“ I am sorry to hear you say so, having deemed you 
above selfish motives; you might be repaid, however, for 
the surplus from her father’s properly may be more.” 

“ I do not see a chance of its exceeding three thousand 
pounds; and she has no right to expect an addition from 
me,” replied Robert sullenly. 

“ No right I admit; I appeal to your generosity — not to 
your justice; and she neither has, nor must have the slight- 
est idea of this application.” 

“I am not in a generous mood, sir. 'I told you so 
before.” 

“ You have disappointed me, Robert,” said his father 
gravely. “ I never before believed you mercenary.” 

“ 1 am not mercenary, sir; I do not care a pin’s point 
for money; — give ISU thousand pounds to the county hos- 
pital if you will — it is not that; but I have a particular en- 
mity to Lord Fitz Elwyn; and will cross him in his love— 
if I can,” exclaimed Robert vehemently. 

“ Then I can only pray that my son may be vouchsafed 
a more Christian spirit. And Cecil, poor Cecil, must bear 
her sorrow as she best can. I shall not soon forget her 
parting look — so very, very sad — yet so resigned.” 

“Never fear, sir; she will soon get over the disappoint- 
ment; all girls do; besides, she has wonderful firmness, and 
will think it a duty to struggle against despondency,” ob- 
served Robert pettishly. 

“ She is a person of strong feelings and should not be 
spoken of with levity,” replied his father reprovingly. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


193 


“Dear me, sir, you are making as much fuss with Miss 
Clare as my mother did, which set me against her.” 

“ I feel a deep interest in her happiness for her poor mo- 
ther’s sake,” said Mr. Ashton more warmly, a little irri- 
tated by his son’s remarks. 

“ A deep interest indeed, sir; you care more for the hap- 
piness of a stranger, than the happiness of your own son,” 
exclaimed Robert almost fiercely. 

“ What do you mean?” inquired Mr. Ashton with unu- 
sual energy, startled by his vehemence. 

“ That as you loved the mother, so do I love the daughter,” 
replied his son with a hollow voice, starting up and pacing 
the room. 

“ Poor Robert! I never thought of that,” said Mr. Ash- 
ton after recovering from the shock caused by this painful 
confession. 

Mrs. Ashton’s favorite expression — “ that is just like you 
— you never think of anything,” rose to Robert’s lips; but 
a glance at his father checked its utterance; tears were 
rolling down his cheeks, and there was no mistaking the 
fulness of his sympathy; he was thinking of the crossing 
of his own early love, and suffering again the pangs of his 
youth in the person of his son. Even Robert’s haughty 
spirit, chafed as it was, did not disdain such tender and deli- 
cate pity. He wrung his hand in silence; for he dared 
not trust himself to speak: and then turning abruptly to a 
window looked out on nothing. There was a long and 
painful pause, which was at length broken by Mr. Ashton. 

“ Forgive me, Robert, if I blamed you for your petulance. 
I never guessed what pain I was inflicting. We will not 
touch on the subject again. I can do nothing now; and 
Cecil must learn to bear her fate.” 

“Yes, sir, you can do a great deal,” replied Robert 
quickly, moved to more generous thoughts by his father’s 
gentle sympathy, “ you can do every thing,” he repeated, 
standing proudly before his parent. “ Go as you proposed 
to Lord Lindmoor, make every fitting apology for yourself 
— and me; I leave my honor in your hands. Say that if 
five thousand pounds, (and if that should not be enough, 
add another five,) will win him to consent to his son’s 
union with Miss Clare, it shall be paid down on her wed- 
VoL. II.— 17 


194 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


ding day. Think not of me — argne not with me,” — he con- 
tinued vehemently, stamping with impatience as Mr. Ashton 
seemed inclined to interrupt him. “ I promised Cecil to be 
to her as a kind brother; and I will keep my word — if I 
can. Away on the instant — take me whilst the better mood 
is on me; — even now pride, passion and revenge are raging 
for the mastery. Do not hesitate — do not delay. I owe 
her some reparation for the pangs I have cost her.” 

Before Mr. Ashton could reply, Robert had rushed from 
the room, leaving his father to wonder and moralise on his 
sudden transitions — his whirlwind passion, and chivalric 
generosity. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


195 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Lord Lindmoor’s feeling was the opposite of pleasure Oft 
hearing that Mr. Ashton wished to speak with him; and his 
demeanor as he entered the library, where his guest awaited 
him, was not calculated to raise his visitor’s hopes. 

“Your lordship has doubtless guessed the purpose of 
niy visit,” began poor Mr. Ashton with some hesitation, 
being embarrassed by his host’s magnificent manner. 

“If you mean, Mr. Ashton, that your present visit has 
reference to the letter transmitted through you this morning, 
you must excuse me if I decline any conversation on the 
subject; my resolution is not to be changed,” replied Lord 
Lindmoor haughtily. 

“I trust you will show me the courtesy of listening be- 
fore you decide irrevocably; I will not detain you long,” 
observed Mr. Ashton, hurt at his lordship’s impatience. 

The earl’s cheek flushed with vexation; but he bowed a 
cold assent, and Mr. Ashton proceeded. 

“ You mention two causes of objection, my lord; and I 
am ready to meet you on both; and being deeply interested 
in Miss Clare’s happiness, which I fear depends on a union 
with your son, I hope what I have to say may effect some 
change in your views on this point. I come to make the 
most ample apology for any apparent enmity towards Lord 
Fitz Elwyn during the election.” 

“I require no apology;” replied Lord Lindmoor, as 
proudly as before. 

“ Possibly not, my lord; but I am anxious to offer the 
explanation, which I feel to be due to your noble son. 
Party zeal lias made the reservation of my vote, which was 
only the effect of constitutional indolence, appear a studied 
insult to Lord Fiiz Elwyn; but a knowledge of my general 
character should convince your lordship that such could not 


196 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


have been my intention. There are few people whom I 
esteem more highly than the viscount; and though my 
former friendship for his father and connection with his 
party, induced me to promise my vote to Mr. Fleetwood, 
my reluctance to give it against Lord Fitz Elwyn was 
proved by the very tardiness which is brought as a charge 
against me. Having promised my vote when once in the 
booth 1 could not refuse to give it, but I would rather have 
been maltreated by the crowd, from whom the viscount 
rescued me, than have been compelled to such seeming 
ingratitude for his manly protection. Bewildered by the 
bustle, I understood not the value of my vote, till too late 
even for explanation. When I looked for your son to ex- 
press my regret and gratitude he was gone; and your lord- 
ship turned away in anger. I ought to have written; but I 
put off every thing to the future that should be done imme- 
diately; and then waste my time in idle murmurs at neg- 
lected opportunities. Nor is it only for myself I would 
apologise; I have carte blanche from my eldest son to say 
all that can be said in extenuation of any party heat; and 
beg you to pardon what cannot be excused.” 

“ My letter sought no apology, Mr. Ashton; and I enter- 
tain no enmity towards you or your son,” replied his lord- 
ship coldly, but less proudly than before, for his visitor’s 
simple frankness moved him in spite of himself. 

“ I am glad to hear you say so, my lord; and as you 
have ceased to count us as enemies, I hope you will shortly 
learn to regard us as friends.” 

“The difference in our political views will naturally for- 
bid any great intimacy which was all that I meant to express 
in my letter,” said his lordship. 

“ I am grieved to hear you say so, my lord, and always 
regret these party divisions that tear asunder the dearest ties; 
and check the soothing charities of life; but Cecil Clare is 
little of a politician, and all her sympathies are for the 
whigs.” 

“ I have no wish to interfere with Miss Clare’s politi- 
cal principles, Mr. Ashton; they are — they can be nothing 
to me, or mine. I hoped that my resolution on this point 
would have been understood and respected; situated as she 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


197 


is, a silent acquiescence in my decision would have been 
more generous and delicate.” 

“ Blame me, my lord, for this visit if you will, but not 
Cecil Clare, to whom I dared not give a hint of my purpose, 
lest it should have been forbidden. I merely came to ex- 
plain the situation in which she really stands; and if tempt- 
ed to plead for her, as I would not plead for a daughter of 
my own, it is because her dying mother consigned her to 
my care, believing that she had not another friend on earth. 
She is not as poor as is generally reported; and if a fortune 
of five thousand pounds can change — ” 

“ It can — not,” interrupted his lordship abruptly. 

“ Would ten suffice?” asked Mr. Ashton after a minute’s 
pause, during which his thoughts were with Robert. 

“ Mr Ashton, my son is not to be purchased,” replied 
the earl with a lofty air. “ My objections to his union with 
Miss Clare are insurmountable; and you must pardon me if 
I decline all further conversation on so painful a subject; 
Lord Fitz Elwyn’s wife should be Ins equal in birth and 
station. Will you allow me to offer you some refresh- 
ment.” 

“ Nothing I thank you. Lord Lindmoor,” replied Mr. 
Ashton with a sigh. “ I have failed in my purpose, and 
will not detain you longer than to express a hope that if 
there has been any thing displeasing to you in the matter or 
manner of my communication, you will lay all the blame on 
me to whom of right it belongs, and not allow my faults to 
prejudice her for whom I came to plead.” 

“ Oh! certainly not, Mr. Ashton; and I hope you will 
not consider me uncourteous in closing a conference that 
can bring pleasure to neither,” replied the earl with stately 
politeness, but not dissembling his wish to put an end to 
this painful interview. 

Mr. Ashton’s heart was heavy as he paced up the Lind- 
moor avenue. He dreaded to see Cecil pine away, for her 
healtli was too delicate to stand so severe a shock. And 
Robert — how would he receive the intelligence? — in joy — 
or sorrow? — with a generous, or a jealous feeling? Who 
could ever guess what would be Robert’s mood for five 
minutes forward. 

“ Does the earl relent?” demanded Robert abruptly, ap- 

17 * 


198 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


pearing from a thicket near the road as his father approached 
Ashton Grove. 

“ No; his resolution is unalterable,” replied Mr. Ashton 
without raising his eyes to his son’s face. 

“ Thank Heaven?” burst from the agitated young man. 
“ But no, no; selfish wretch that I am to rejoice in her mis- 
ery!” he exclaimed with a wildness borilering on delirium, 
darting back into the depths of the wood ere his father could 
detain him. 

Timid, indolent, and ever averse to inflicting pain Mr. 
Ashton would have concealed his visit to Lindmoor; but 
Helen Wilder having accidentally met him on his road, and 
mentioned the circumstance, Cecil, guessing the purpose of 
his visit, insisted on hearing its result; so without entering 
into particulars he was compelled to admit that the earl was 
not to be moved. 

Cecil heard him in silence; she did not murmur — she did 
not weep; but after the lapse of a few minutes rose to leave 
the room. The efiort was too great a trial of strength — her 
head grew dizzy — she tottered and would have fallen to the 
ground had not the anxious and affectionate Emma rushed 
forward in time to catch her. 

What a contrast to her feelings were those of Emma Ash- 
ton and Helen Wilder, who bent over her, tending her so 
kindly! They were all hope and happiness, and she all 
doubt and sorrow. Their affection was sanctioned by pa- 
rents and friends, for Captain Wilder had that day given his 
consent to his daughter’s union with Edward, whilst hers 
was blighted in the bud — herself despised — rejected. 

“ I wish I could see tears, Cecil; I am sure they would 
bring you relief. Weep, weep, do any thing but look so 
sad,” exclaimed the affectionate Emma, tears streaming 
plentifully from her own eyes the while. “ Do not despair, 
dear Cecil; Sir Thomas Willerton has great influence with 
Lord Lindmoor, and his persuasions cannot fail,” she added 
with perfect confidence in the effect of her warm-hearted 
lover’s eloquence. 

“ And my father and Edward have been of no little ser- 
vice during the election; and both will gladly draw sword 
in your cause,” said Helen Wilder with as proud a confi- 
dence in those she loved. - 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


199 


“I thank you both — I thank you all,” replied poor Cecil 
in a hollow voice, that shocked her hearers; “ but there 
must be no persuasion — no more pleading. Lord Lind- 
moor is right; his son should wed a lady of equal birth and 
fortune; and should we ever meet again such should — such 
shall be my advice. Bear with me a little while, dear 
friends,” she added affectionately passing an arm around 
each. “I am not as weak as you think — it is the body 
that has given way, and not the mind. Never recur to 
the past — I must strive to forget that; let me come and 
go as I will without question, or comment, 'and do not fear 
that my sadness shall cloud your joy. Above all, dear 
Emma, beg your mother not to speak to me; her kind- 
ness would distress me more,” she added, shuddering at the 
thought of Mrs. Ashton’s torturing consolations. 

“ It shall be all as you wish,” replied the weeping Em- 
ma, respecting her friend’s desire to avoid all conversation 
on the painful subject. 

“ I have seen a great deal of Lord Fitz Elwyn lately; 
and will wager the ring received as a pledge of faith this 
morning, and which I do not value lightly, that the vis- 
count will bear down all opposition and win you yet,” 
cried the frank, high spirited Helen. “So keep up your 
spirits, dear Cecil, for we cannot feel happy whilst you are 
so sad.” 

A sudden light lit up Cecil’s haggard features at these 
words; but it passed away on the instant, leaving those 
features more haggard than before. 

“No, no; that cannot — must not be,” she murmured 
with a look so mournful, and so desolate that Emma unable 
to bear it quitted the room. 

“ Poor Cecil!” said Mr. Ashton with a faltering voice as 
his daughter told him of that heart rending look, which 
showed how earthly hope had all departed. “ There is 
one chance yet; I never thought of this before,” he ex- 
claimed, as Emma closed the door, drawing an inkstand 
towards him with a promptness rarely shown in his more 
active days. 

The pen passed rapidly over the paper with that nervous 
dash at the end of the words which shows excitement; but 
none in the house knew to whom that letter was addressed. 


200 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


Cecil neither made a parade of sorrow, nor affected gai- 
ety; the first was beneath her — the last beyond her; but she 
did all in her power to avoid throwing a damp over the 
happiness of those around her. None saw her weep — none 
heard her complain; she tried to appear interested in the con- 
cerns and occupations of others — she even strove to smile; 
but those sickly smiles wrung the hearts of all who saw 
them. It was evident that life and its daily pursuits had 
lost all present interest in her eyes; she thought of events 
now only as they would affect her friends — to her they 
could bring no joy; and but little increase of sorrow. She 
had no kindred — no loving mother or sister to whom she 
could turn for consolation — she was alone in the world. 
And what a world to her! one stroke had laid its beauties 
waste, and made it desolate. 

Ashton Grove was full of painful recollections. The 
friends whom she had loved, the bowers where she had sat 
— the woods where she had wandered — the verdant lawn 
— the fragrant flowers — all — all reminded her of her brief 
dream of bliss — of him of whom she must not think. To 
regain real tranquility, whilst surrounded by objects re- 
minding her of her suffering was impossible — her strength 
would fail beneath the effort — she must leave Ashton Grove, 
and its kind inmates — she must go to a strange place — 
among strange faces — no matter where — no matter with 
whom, only not to Milford and the Fords. But she could 
not go yet — she must wait a few days till Lord Fitz Elwyn’s 
return; — she had no right to refuse him an interview should he 
desire it, but would he desire it? Would he yield an instant 
and silent consent to his father’s wishes, or would he still seek 
to win her, as Helen W ilder had asserted? It was this doubt 
that kept her in a constant state of anxiety, which all her efforts 
could neither control nor hide. The slightest bustle — a 
sudden noise — the loud closing of a door, even the rushing 
flight of a bird startled and flurried her. No wonder, 
therefore, that with all her prayers for fortitude — all her 
struggles for composure — she grew more thin and ghastly 
every day. 

Robert could not endure the sight of her silent, patient 
suffering. It was partly his doing. His violence before 
and during the election had influenced Lord Lindmoor’s 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


201 


decision. When they met which was as rarely as possi- 
ble, he gazed upon her with a mingling of pity, anger and 
remorse, most painful to the sensitive Cecil. He seldom 
addressed her, but she could read his feelings in his looks, 
his hurried manner, and the abruptness with which he 
would start from his seat, and quit the room. He fled her 
presence, for her sunken cheeks and hollow eyes were a 
bitter reproach. Day after day he might be seen gallop- 
ping across the country, outstripping the wild huntsman in 
his speed, or buried in some hidden covert, or flirting with 
Miss Power, jesting and laughing with a frensied gaiety, 
which had something alarming in its recklessness. Even 
Charles’s boyish, boisterous mirth was softened and sub- 
dued when he looked on Cecil. From the rest of the fa- 
mily, and Helen Wilder she was certain of that quiet, gen- 
tle sympathy which soothes without enervating. 

Fortunately Mrs. Ashton was still detained at Eastbrook 
Cottage by the indisposition and household troubles of her 
friend, so Cecil was spared her drops, and what she feared 
far more, her fretting and tormenting kindness. 

Fhnter lost his triumphant look, and skulked about, 
doubting whether he had not done more harm than good 
by the stratagem on which he had before so piqued him- 
self. 

Nothing was seen of the Lindmoors, but it was rumored 
among the servants that they were to take their departure 
in a few days for Brighton, or Hastings, or Leamingtouj 
or some other fashionsible watering place. 


202 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Rather more than a week had passed since Lord Fitz 
Elwyn’s sudden journey, when one bright sunny morning 
he unexpectedly made liis appearance at Lindmoor. 

“ Frederick! my dear Frederick!” exclaimed his mother 
receiving his embrace with a mother’s joy. 

“ How comes this? Have you not received my letter, 
saying that we should set off for Hastings immediately?” 
inquired the earl, with a cloud on his brow, 

“Yes, my dear father; and it is that letter which has 
brought me hitlier with such speed. Mr. Tennant, I am 
happy to say, having been pronounced out of danger 
yesterday.” 

“I hf>i)e you have not thus returned in defiance of my 
wishes IVoni any vague idea that I am to be moved from my 
purpose by your persuasions; if so I tell you plainly that I 
will not — ” 

“ Refuse to listen to me before you condemn me to misery,” 
said his son, closing the sentence. “My happiness is in 
your hands,” he continued rapidly, leaving the earl no time 
for reply. “ Will you blight the happiness of your only 
son, and condemn him to a life of gloom, when but one 
word from you would shed a flood of joy around his path? 
My love for Cecil Clare is not the fancy of an instant — the 
evanescent passion of an unstable mind; 

“ But the higli feeling which the stately soul 
Feels slow engross it, but engross it whole. 

It has withstood time — her fancied inconstancy and scornful 
rejection; struggled against, combatted with, it has only 
acquired strength from opposition. Events that would have 
torn up a lighter feeling, have only rooted this the firmer. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


203 


The search after faults that would the more easily enable 
me to conquer my then hopeless passion, only made me more 
than ever its slave, by showing me fresh virtues; — that love 
has now become a portion of my being, and can only de- 
part with life itself. I dare not ask her whom I love to 
give me her hand unknown to you — she would spurn the 
thought; I will never marry without your full consent; but 
if I wed not Cecil Clare I will wed no other. I have al- 
ready pledged myself to that — and I will keep my pledge. 
I owe you and my mother not only the duty, but the affec- 
tion of a child. Your love brought safety to my infancy, 
and joy to my youth — shall it not also gild and bless my 
manhood? What is rank? what is wealth? that the peace of 
our home should be sacrificed for their idle glitter? Cecil’s 
wishes are moderate as my own. We will not deprive you 
or my mother of one single comfort or luxury; my present 
income shall supply all our wants. I have never embar- 
rassed you by my extravagance — I will not do so now. Do 
not pay your son so bad a compliment as to suppose that 
he cannot prove himself worthy of his rank without a 
splendid equipage, and a long train of servants. Mr. Ten- 
nant’s hasty summons left me no time to plead my hopes; 
but 1 had no idea till the arrival of your letter that you 
would so promptly convey your decision to Miss Clare. 
What must she not have endured, for the last few days? 
What has she not thought of my silence? It is to save her 
and myself from further suffering, that I have hurried to 
plead as a child to my parents for their consent to a union, 
which can alone secure my happiness. If you could bring 
aught against Cecil Clare herself I would be dumb; but do 
not sell my peace for the sake of gold; wealth cannot satisfy 
the craving heart. I cannot boast of Cecil’s riches, nor her 
rank; but she has intrinsic worth above both these. If you 
doubt that worth, though I think you do not, seek her ac- 
quaintance — put her to any lest; and I will abide by your 
decision; but again I entreat you not to make your son, your 
only son, the victim of ambition. There are tears in your 
eyes, my dear mother; plead for me with my father,” he 
continued, taking her hand and placing it within the earl’s. 
“I have seen your mutual affection — I have learnt from 


204 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


you how united hearts may be; — do not forbid me the prac- 
tice of this teaching.” 

“ We were very happy, yet we were not rich;” said 
Lady Lindmoor looking up with affectionate pleading into 
her husband’s face, who half shunned, half met her gaze. 

“ And Cecil Clare and your son will be as happy, if you 
but bless their union,” added Fitz Elwyn, taking the earl’s 
other hand. “You will not deny me that happiness, my 
father?” 

“ No, no; I cannot withstand you both; so bless you my 
boy! and may Cecil Clare prove as good a wife to you, as 
your mother has proved to me!” replied the earl with glist- 
ening eyes, passing one arm round his weeping, smiling 
countess; and laying the other hand solemnly on his son’s 
.shoulder. “ You have been a blessing to us from your 
birth; and my first care in life is your happiness. I thought 
to promote it though at the cost of present pain, by refusing 
my consent to your wishes; perhaps I judged unwisely.” 

“ Indeed you did; but I never doubted your affection, my 
dear father; and you will now have two -children to bless 
and love instead of only one, bound to you by the tenderest 
ties of gratitude,” exclaimed the viscount, raising his hands 
to his lips with respectful emotion. 

“ I will not doubt it,” said the earl with feeling. 

“ Thank you, sir; this confidence in my gratitude and 
affection shall not be misplaced. But Cecil must be suffer- 
ing great anxiety. Now that you have consented to make 
me happy, perhaps you would send — or — ” 

“See her, and report your wondrous eloquence,” said 
the earl with a smile, observing that his son hesitated. 

“ Exactly, sir; your kindness has anticipated my wishes.” 

“ What say you to calling at Ashton Grove this morn- 
ing?” said the earl to his lady. “ My note was rather 
cavalier, for I was vexed at Fitz Elwyn’s avowal, and we 
owe Miss Clare some extra courtesy to overbalance it. I 
am not one to do things by halves; and from this moment 
regard her as a daughter. Besides, I have to make amends 
to Mr. Ashton, who met a colder reception than he de- 
served. But his fidgety, fussy wife, setting every one 
wrong, and making every one uncomfortable by her over 
zeal to set them right, and at their ease — I shall never stand 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


205 


her, Filz Elwyn,” added the earl with a ludicrous expression 
of horror. 

“ Oh, yes you will, sir. Listen to Cecil’s account of 
her kindness; and you will not only learn to endure, but 
absolutely to love her. I should not w'onder if within the 
week you consented to try her favorite drops.” 

“ I should wonder very much,” replied the earl, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, but unwilling to damp by stronger com- 
ment the spirits of his happy son, who looked a different 
person from the cold, and listless Fitz Elwyn of some few 
months past. 

Never was such a beautifier, and health restorer as hap- 
piness; and the eyes of the earl and countess sparkled with 
pride and affection as they gazed on his glowing, animated 
countenance. 

“ I will go and prepare Cecil for your visit,” he said, 
after relating some particulars, concerning Mr. Tennant’s 
illness. 

“ Do; but be moderate in your transports, or Miss Clare 
will decline an alliance with a mad man,” observed his fa- 
ther with a smile. 

“ Take care, sir, lest I ask my mother whether I inherit 
such madness from my father,” replied the viscount, glanc- 
ing back as he was leaving the room. 

The next minute he was bounding across the park in the 
direction of Ashton Grove. 

“ How is Miss Clare? Where is Miss Clare?” demanded 
Fitz Elwyn of Edward Ashton, whom he met on the lawn, 
never heeding questions or answers concerning health, un- 
conscious even of the presence of Helen Wilder, who was 
leaning on her lover’s arm. 

“ She is in her own pet den, as she calls it; follow me, 
and I will show you the way. I guess 1 may offer my 
congratulations, without troubling you with queries,” re- 
plied the delighted Edward, reading the happiness of his 
favorites in the viscount’s glancing eye. 

“ Yes, I am the happiest man alive; but have no time for 
explanation now. Let us hasten to Miss Clare.” 

“ Very well, my lord; we are progressing at the rate of 
thirty miles an hour as it is; you would not go breathless 
VoL. 1I.—18 


206 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


into your lady’s presence. And as for your being the hap- 
piest man alive, methinks I can match you.” 

“Then accept my sincere congratulations; and convey 
the same to the fair Helen, whom I guess to be the cause 
of your felicity.” 

“ Rightly guessed, my lord; but you shall convey your 
congratulations yourself, and win her forgiveness, if you 
can, for not seeing her just now though within a foot of 
your elbow.” 

“ I beg her ten thousand pardons; but she will be merci- 
ful 1 know, and make allowances,” replied Fitz Elwyn 
coloring at the accusation. 

“ I come the avant courier of good tidings, and the an- 
nouncer of a pleasant visitor,” said Edward approaching 
Cecil, who was seated with her back to the door. “ Are 
you sufficiently composed to receive him?” 

“Him! What visitor?” questioned the startled Cecil, 
trembling in every limb, and gazing wildly into Edward’s 
face. 

“ Not an unwelcome visitor I trust, my own, my be- 
loved,” exclaimed the impatient Fitz Elwyn springing for- 
ward. 

Edward lingered an instant to see that there was no need 
of female attendance, salts or sal volatile; and then rejoined 
Helen and Emma on the lawn with the assurance that the 
viscount had proved a far more efficacious bloom restorer, 
than all his mother’s drops, or their tender nursing. 

“ Lord and Lady Lindmoor are in the drawing room,” 
said Emma, entering Cecil’s pet den about an hour after. 

It was with faltering steps and downcast eyes that Cecil 
entered the drawingroom, timidly leaning on Fitz Elwyn’s 
arm; but the atfectionate embrace of the countess, and the 
kind parental greeting of the earl allayed her agitation, and 
restored her to tolerable composure. 

Notwithstanding all Fitz Elwyn’s assurances, she fancied 
his parents had only yielded a reluctant consent, and feared 
to meet their eyes, lest she should read in them coldness or 
dislike, but these fears were groundless. The earl, as he 
had said, did not do things by halves; and his consent once 
given, his natural kindness was allowed full play. He had 
a feeling, generous heart, though his nobler qualities had 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


207 


h( late been a little dimmed by pride; and having now re- 
/linquished all hope of securing Lady Barbara Hetherton’s 
/ sixty thousand pounds to keep up the title, he was ready to 
admit that Cecil’s conduct on every occasion where it had 
come beneath his notice, had been that of a delicate, and 
high-minded woman; and the timid grace, the heartfelt gra- 
titude with which she received his blessing on her union 
with his son, completed her conquest over all his remaining 
i prejudices. 

As for the countess, it was enough that Cecil was be- 
loved by Fitz Elwyn, to ensure her a place in his mother’s 
heart. 

To spare Cecil, whose whole appearance, notwithstand- 
ing the feverish flush on her cheek, showed the ravages 
caused by her late anxiety, from further agitation, or the 
embarrassment of a tete-a-tete with the earl and countess, it 
had been agreed before her entrance that Mr. Ashton and 
Emma should remain in the room; and Edward and Helen 
entering soon after a lively conversation ensued, which 
served to banish Cecil’s tremors, though she said but little, 
in the midst of which Mr. Ashton was summoned to his 
study by the announcement that a gentleman wished to 
speak with him on particular business. 

Mr. Ashton’s embarrassment as he followed the servant 
out of the room, after apologising to his guests, filled Ed- 
ward with some surprise and curiosity, his father being so 
- rarely moved by any intelligence; but he was not doomed 
to be kept long in suspense, for ere little more than five mi- 
nutes the study door re-opened, and steps were heard ap- 
proaching the drawing-room, mingled with the murmur of 
voices. 

“ I do not care how far it has proceeded, she shall enter 
no family not perfectly willing to receive her,” were the 
words that fell distinctly on every ear, as Mr. Ashton re- 
entered the apartment followed by Mr. Lake. 

“ Mr. Lake! 1 am delighted to see you,” exclaimed Fitz 
Elwyn, shaking him warmly by the hand. “ 1 have been 
wishing to thank you for your exertions on my behalf, but 
you ran away so immediately after the election that I have 
not seen you since.” 

And I too have my best thanks to offer,” said the earl, 


208 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


advancing to meet this unexpected visitor with equal cordi- 
ality. 

“ Stop, there, my lord; I have shaken hands with your 
son, for he is a fine, noble young man; but I will not an- 
swer for it that I shall shake hands with you,” replied Mr. 
Lake, keeping his arm pressed close to his side. 

“ Refuse to shake hands with me, why what have I done 
to offend you?” inquired the earl with a wondering, but 
good humored smile, having become reconciled by use to 
the South American’s blunlness. 

“ I will tell you what you have done to offend me, my 
lord; you have refused to receive my niece as your daugh- 
ter.” 

“ Your niece!” exclaimed all present in amazement. 

“Yes, my niece! Cecil Clare is my niece, as Mr. Ashton 
can tell you. Do not deny the relationship, Cecil, for 1 
count on your affection to soothe my declining years,” he 
continued turning towards the bewildered girl. “ I am 
your mother’s only brother, and your nearest relative. Hav- 
ing squandered my paternal property, I was driven abroad 
by the hope of repairing its loss; and with God’s blessing 
on my unwearied industry, have redeemed my fallen for- 
tunes. None cared for the poor spendthrift, and none asked 
of his welfare; and the story spread that he was no more. 
Years passed, and with those years came a yearning to look 
upon my home and kindred. I returned to my native land; 
but there were none to welcome me. My sister slept in 
the silent grave, beside her husband, with whom I had quar- 
relled before my departure; the friends of my childhood knew 
me not, for the small pox had completely changed my appear- 
ance, and rendered cold by time and the world’s hardships 
had long ceased to care for the companion of their youth. 
I learned that my sister had left a child, an only daughter, 
who would have been homeless, friendless, penniless, but 
for the generous care of one, whom I had as my father’s 
ward, wronged, crossed and insulted in by-gone years. I 
I had wronged my gentle sister too, forcing her to wed with 
with one whom she did not love; and it had been the hope 
of my later years to receive her forgiveness before I died — 
io make her all the reparation in my power; but this was 
denied me, and all that was left was to transfer to her daugh- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


209 


ter the affection which I had intended, deeply repenting my 
former harshness, to lavish upon her. But the fancy struck 
me to conceal my name for a time, that I might belter study 
the disposition of my niece, and thus more surely learn 
how to insure her future happiness. From the change in 
my appearance I had remained unknown to former inti- 
mates, and hoped to do the same with Mr. Ashton: but I 
was mistaken and compelled to make him the confidant of 
my plans, and persuade him to assist me in winning myself 
an interest in the heart of my sister’s child. And now 
Cecil, that you have heard my tale, will you not grant me 
the love of a niece? Will you not receive me as your mo- 
ther’s brother?” 

“ Do not doubt it. You have already won ray regard as 
a stranger, and shall be warmly welcomed as an uncle,” an- 
swered Cecil touched by his earnest appeal. 

“ Heaven bless you, Cecil! Then I am not a solitary 
old man with no one to care for me, as I had feared,” 
said Mr. Lake with much feeling, kissing his niece’s cheek. 
“ But this is not all my business here,” he added in a stern- 
er voice, but still retaining her hand. “ As your uncle, I 
cannot permit your entrance into any family the heads of 
which are unwilling to receive you.” 

“No unwillingness exists; your niece will be welcomed 
as a beloved daughter,” observed Lord Lindmoor anxious 
to spare Cecil pain and embarrassment. 

“ Frankly and kindly said my lord; but I know that there 
has been unwillingness; and I also know that you desired 
wealth for your son.” 

“ That son never desired it for himself,” observed Fitz 
Elwyn quickly. 

“ Perhaps not, my lord; but both father and son may 
hereafter despise my niece on account of her poverty; she 
shall therefore have a choice, which was not alas! allowed 
to her poor mother; a sense of poverty shall not tempt her 
to a union which she might hereafter repent. I will not so 
far exert an uncle’s authority as to decline this union with- 
out your consent, Cecil; but I will furnish you with a suffi- 
cient excuse fordoing so if you desire it. Here is a deed 
of gift of ten thousand pounds; break off this engagement, 

18 * 


210 


THE QUIET HUSBANP. 


and it shall be yours: fulfil it and I bestow my gains on an- 
other.” 

Cecil did not speak; but she let fall her uncle’s hand, and 
after one reproachful glance looked on the ground, her color 
varying every instant. 

“ Is this your kindness? this your professed friendship, 
Mr. Lake? I would that you had been less zealous for my 
election, that I might speak more strongly. But Cecil, dear 
Cecil! You will not heed him? You will prize my love 
above his gold!” exclaimed Fitz Elwyn passionately, ap- 
proaching to take her hand. 

“ Stand back, my lord; it is not for you to interfere with 
my niece’s choice.” 

“ Your pardon, Mr. Lake; it is for me to offer Cecil the 
devotion of a life in lieu of your promised wealth.” 

“ She has learnt from your father. Lord Fitz Elwyn, the 
value of the latter; and so tutored will I doubt not make a 
wise decision. Come, Cecil, I await your choice. Inde- 
pendence with your uncle’s affection; or dependence on 
the humors of a family reluctant to receive you. If you 
decide on the last, I fill up this paper with another name.” 

“ State the matter more fairly,” exclaimed the indig- 
nant lover. “ My parents will receive her as a beloved 
daughter; and for myself, I wed Cecil Clare, or I wed none. 
Let him give his wealth to another, dear Cecil; and trust 
me you shall never have cause to repent it. The most 
devoted afiection — the deepest gratitude shall be yours 
through life. Do not cloud the hopes that have just dawned 
so brightly,” he continued with passionate earnestness. 

“ It is not for you; — it is not for me to decide,” replied 
Cecil with a changing cheek, gently withdrawing her hand 
from his, and glancing towards the earl and countess. 

There was no mistaking that appealing look, so swift 
withdrawn — that timid, faltering voice which she had vainly 
striven to make steady. 

“ Will you leave the decision to me?” asked the earl 
advancing promptly. 

“ Yes;” answered Cecil in a tone scarcely above a 
whisper, whilst her hand trembled in his. 

“ Then thus I decide,” said Lord Lindmoor, giving 
that cold and trembling hand to the enraptured viscount, 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


211 


who received it as the greatest boon earth had to give. 
“ You shall ever find in me an affectionate father.” 

“ And in me the fondness of a mother,” added the count- 
ess with glistening eyes, whilst Fitz Elwyn whispered his 
raptures without heeding CeciFs blushes. 

“ Then, Cecil, you give up your uncle’s gold, and your 
uncle’s love.” 

“ No, not his love; he must still grant me that,” replied 
Cecil pleadingly. 

“We will think of that; but the money, as I told you, 
goes to another,” answered her uncle firmly, but not un- 
kindly, turning towards a table from which he took a pen 
and inserted a name in the deed of gift; — it was the name 
of Lord Fitz Elwyn. 

“ There, my lord,” he said presenting the paper to the 
viscount; “ take this, and with it my best wishes for your 
future happiness. You have wooed nobly, and have not 
won as you supposed a portionless bride.” 

“ This is too much, Mr. Lake,” exclaimed Fitz Elwyn 
with a quivering lip, for he was deeply touched by the 
generous act. “ But it belongs not to me — it belongs to 
your niece.” 

“No such thing; my lord; it belongs solely to you, to 
do with as you will; and my niece knows so little of the 
value of money, as she has just proved, that if wise you 
will give her none of it. I said it should be bestowed on 
another; and 1 am a man of my word.” 

“I am overpowered, Mr. Lake; and know not how to 
express my thanks; can you forgive my hasty words just 
now? I feared you wished to part me from your niece; 
and she is in my estimation more precious than all your 
gold; but with that gold I hope you will give me your 
regard.” 

“ That you have already, my lord; or you should not 
have had the gold.” 

“ And you will give me your love,” said Cecil coaxingly. 

“ I can not refuse you, if I would,” replied Mr. Lake, 
kissing her affectionately, tears starting into his eyes as he 
looked upon her, for she brought to his mind the sister 
whom he had wronged. “ And now, my lord, can you 


212 


THE QUIET HUSBAND, 


pardon me for putting your regard for my niece to the test; 
and will you give me the hand I declined before?” 

“Willingly,” replied Lord Lindmoor, with feeling. “ I 
was to blame in withholding my consent at first; but I was 
prejudiced.” 

“You did nobly, m,y lord, in rescinding that refusal so 
handsomely; few would have so acted, and I hope to make 
my niece a fitting bride for your son in point of fortune.” 

“ It is very improbable that I shall ever marry, unless 
indeed Miss Wilder should fall desperately in love with 
me, and ask me to have her, and then I could notin gallantry 
say — no,” he added looking mischievously at that young 
lady, to whom Edward was whispering some lover’s elo- 
quence. 

“ Miss Wilder has a sort of a kind of an affection for 
Mr. Lake, on account of his conduct this morning, but she 
will never interfere with her friend’s interest,” replied the 
blushing Helen. 

“ Well then I suppose I must remain an old bachelor, 
and leave all I have to my niece. So, my lord, Cecil shall 
have five thousand pounds from me on her wedding day, 
besides what her own fortune may turn out, which owing 
to some arrangements in my power to make, may more 
than equal that amount; and at my death she will inherit 
all I have.” 

“ I trust it will be many, many years ere she receive 
that last: you shame, yet attach me by your generosity,” 
replied Lord Lindmoor warmly. 

We will not detail all the pretty things that were said, 
which perhaps pleased the more from Mrs. Ashton’s not 
being there lo worry every one with her great friendship, 
for the earl and countess took their leave before her return, 
engaging to dine at Ashton Grove on the morrow. The 
viscount and Mr. Lake lingered behind. 

“I wish you joy, my lord. I wish you joy. Miss Cecil. 
God bless you both, and make you happy,” said honest 
Flinter, joining the viscount and his lady-love in the lawn, 
where they were sauntering with the rest of the party, only 
a little aside, towards the close of the same day. 

“Thank you, Flinter,” replied Fitz Elwyn graciously. 
“I am not sure whether I do not owe my happiness to you; 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


213 


at least you had some hand in it, for if you had not sent me 
on with the parcel, I might never have come to an expla- 
nation with Miss Clare.” 

“ Thank you kindly, my lord, for saying so. Yes, yes; 
I did not send you on for nothing. I knew Miss Cecil 
was alone, though I did not tell you, or you would have 
gone the other way, as you did afore; but I saw there was 
some’at betwixt you, and thought if I could get you toge- 
ther it would all come out; and so it has you see, my lord,” 
cried Flinier with a triumphant chuckle. 

“ But how could you tell that there was any thing be- 
twixt us, as you call it, when no one else suspected it, 
Flinter?” 

“Because I see’d you look, my lord, one day, when I 
chanced to say some’at of Miss Cecil; and I knew that 
people did not look in that way for nothing. I tell you 
what, my lord, Thomas Flinter knows a great deal more 
than some folks thinks for,” replied the honest bailiff with 
a knowing nod. 

“Indeed; then we must take care, Cecil,” said the vis^ 
count laughing. 

“No fear of me, my lord; I was in love myself once, 
and thoff poor Bessy died, yet for her sake I helps on all 
true love matters. Besides, Miss Cecil spoke and looked 
so kind from the first moment she came into the house, 
that I loves her a’most as well as one of master’s children; 
and I looks upon them as my own.” 

“ I am much obliged for your good opinion, and good 
wishes,” said blushing Cecil; and she spoke so sweetly 
that the old man loved her better than before. 

“Hey day! I shall be jealous,” remarked Fitz Elwyn 
gaily. 

Flinter laughed heartily at the viscount’s observation; 
and then with reiterated good wishes left them, passing a 
merry jest with Edward and Miss Wilder, who were also 
great favorites, as he took his way to the stables. 

Shortly after he was seen on his sturdy pony, the coun- 
terpart of himself some people asserted, trotting towards 
the lodge. The truth was that the now triumphant Flinter, 
as some compensation for his late disapj)ointment, had set 
his heart on being the first to tell the news to Mrs. Ashton, 


214 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


who was momentarily expected; which he knew he could 
effect by waylaying the britscha between the house and the 
outer gate, as his mistress, who could not abide sitting still 
for long together even in a carriage, would be sure on see- 
ing him to get out and walk to ask about the farm. 

All chanced as Flinter had expected. The carriage was 
sent on, when within a quarter of a mile of the house: and 
Mrs. Ashton began questioning the bailiff, who veiled his 
triumph as well as he could, struggling to maintain his 
usual solid, sober demeanor. 

“ Well Flinter, how does the harvest get on?” 

' “ Pretty well, ma’am, I am thankful to say.” 

“ Good crops?” 

“Very good, ma’am, as far as we can tell as yet. I 
will match my wheat against the new harrow man’s any 
day.” 

“Ah! Flinter you are always boasting of your crops,” 
replied his lady without as usual making any comment on 
his obstinacy about that same new harrow, she being in un- 
common good humor, from knowing herself set down as a 
considerable legatee in the will of the old maiden lady, 
whom she had just quitted. 

“Any news?” she added carelessly. 

“A little, ma’am; I have catched Purcell’s pigs.” 

“Have you?” exclaimed his lady in great delight. “I 
always said they only wanted sharper looking after. And 
what have you done with them?” 

“Oh! I put them in the pound.” 

“Right; and what then?” 

“Why you see, ma’am, it was a bad business altoge- 
ther,” replied Flinter, scratching his head. “The woman 
and the poor children all came crying round me, saying 
they had not a penny to get them out of the pound; and 
they really did seem a’most starving, and to have nothing 
in the ’varsal word, but them pigs; for the father have got 
tumbled off a rick, and broke his arm; and so — you see 
ma’am, what could I do? and you not here to ax. I could 
not bear them crying about me; and so — I — paid the mo- 
ney myself, and just sent them a few potatoes, and such 
like; but they have promised that the pigs shall never be 
in the turmits again; and I really do believe they will keep 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


215 


them up. And perhaps, ma’am, you would be kind enough 
to look in upon them, for they seems in great distress.” 

“I dare say they made you think so; but you believe 
every body that cries; I shall get at the truth. However 
you have shown that you could catch the pigs, and the 
man’s having broken his arm is something.” 

“ Is there any more news?” 

“A little ma’am,” replied Flinter recovering from his em- 
barrassment about the Purcells, but still endeavoring to look 
very demure. “ Master Edward is going to marry Miss 
Wilder.” 

“ Nonsense; Mr. Robert you mean — or Miss Knight,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, who if she once got a fancy into 
her head, could with difficulty be induced to give it up. 

“ No, ma’am, I means what I say; I knew it would be 
long ago. You can ask Mr. Edward and Miss Wilder them- 
selves, for there they are on the lawn together.” 

“Any more news?’ inquired the lady in a guarded tone, 
not choosing to make any further comment on his last piece 
of intelligence. 

“A little, ma’am. Lord Fitz Elwyn is going to marry 
Miss Clare. The earl and the countess have been here this 
morning to settle it, and pay the property visit, as I heard 
Master Charles say.” 

“ You ought to know better than to make me the subject 
of an idle jest. Lord Fitz Elwyn and Miss Clare have 
never been even friends,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton, drawing 
herself up with the dignity of a 'parvenu duchess. 

“ It is no jest, ma’am; it is a truth, and nothing more. I 
see’d how it was long since; ay, and I had a hand in bring- 
ing it about too. Ax Lord Fitz Elwyn, ma’am, if you don’t 
believe me, he is on the lawn there with Miss Clare.” 

Mrs. Ashton was silent; but her flushed cheek and the 
biting of her lip proclaimed the vexation, which she would 
fain have concealed. Flinter could not quite suppress all 
show of triumph; and one glance of his twinkling eye re- 
vealed to Mrs. Ashton his purpose of paying off some of 
the tiresome questions with which she had often tormented 
him, and determined her to give him no further cause for 
congratulation by a show of anger. 


216 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


“Any more news?” she inquired in as an indifferent a tone 
as she could assume. 

“ Only that Mr. Lake has turned out Miss Cecil’s uncle, 
ma’am; and is to give her a fortune.” 

“ Now I know that to be false,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashton 
angrily, unable to maintain as she had resolved her silent 
dignity and philosophical indifference. 

“ It aint false, ma’am; you can ax Miss Emma, who is 
coming towards you now,” answered Flinter with a most 
provoking chuckle. 

“And I suppose you foresaw that too,” observed his lady 
sharply. 

“ No, ma’am; I don’t purtend to forsee every thing. 
Thomas Flinter never says what is not true; but he sees a 
great deal more than some folks thinks for.” 

“Are Edward and Jjord Fitz Elwyn going to marry 
Helen Wilder and Cecil Clare; and is Mr. Lake the latter’s 
uncle?” inquired Mrs. Ashton of Emma, almost breathless 
with impatience. 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

“What all these?” 

“Yes, all.” 

“ Then I have been very ill used,” said Mrs. Ashton, 
drawing herself up again, as she had drawn herself before. 
“ I who spend all my time in making others happy and com- 
fortable must be kept in the dark forsooth; I did not think 
Cecil would have done this at any rate; 1 did not expect in- 
gratitude from her.” 

“ Nor shall you ever find it, my dear Mrs. Ashton,” 
replied Cecil, coming up at the moment. “ I could not tell 
you of my happiness before I knew it myself; and even 
Emma was as much surprised as yourself at finding that 
Lord Fitz Elwyn and I were not such foes as we appeared.” 

“At least I have cause of complaint against Lord Fitz 
Elwyn, Mr. Lake, and Mr. Ashton,” she observed, only 
half appeased by Cecil’s address, but Lord Fitz Elwyn, 
and Mr. Lake, or rather Mr. Moffatt, soon succeeded in 
dispelling her anger; and that once done, the prospect of 
three weddings in the family, and all such as she highly 
approved, made her the happiest, busiest woman in all her 
majesty’s dominions. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


217 


Even Flinter was forgiven, and Mr. Ashton, who was 
obliged to plead guilty ol concealing Mr. Lake’s relation- 
ship to Cecil, escaped with only a half hour’s curtain 
lecture, of which he contrived, by falling asleep, to hear 
only a quarter. 

It was late when Kobert returned from Miss Power’s, 
where he now spent so much of his time; and his features 
grew more haggard as he learnt from Charles the events 
of the day. There was no sleep for him that night, and 
his mother was so much alarmed by his looks in the morn- 
ing, that she teazed him into a downright passion by puffing 
her favorite drops, till Cecil in compassion carried her off, 
on the plea of some womanly consultation. 

“ Every body is going to be married, I hear, so I do not 
see why I should not follow the general example,” exclaim- 
ed Robert abruptly, following his father into Ids study. 

“ You marry!” repeated Mr. Ashton with natural sur- 
prise, his thoughts reverting to his lately avowed affection 
for Cecil. 

“Yes, sir, I marry! I see you think it a little sudden; but 

“ Happy’s tlie wooing 
That’s not long a-doing.” 

and I want something to divert my mind,” replied Robert, 
his lip, in spite of himself, quivering at the last words. 

“ 1 do not like such hasty proceedings. Who may the 
lady be!” inquired his father gravely. 

“ Miss Power.” 

“ Never with my consent,” exclaimed Mr. Ashton with 
unwonted energy and decision. “ She is a vain, worthless 
coquette, and shall never have my sanction to enter the 
family.” 

“ That must be as you please, sir. I say nothing in her 
praise; but I have flirted so long for my own diversion, and 
went so far last night, that as a man of honor I must make 
her an offer this morning. I would as soon be hanged; 
but still it must be done; and I must pay the penalty of my 
madness. Should she choose to wait for your consent, we 
must stand engaged. I will not marry without; and that is 
all that I can say. She expects me this morning, and I 
must keep the appointment.” 

VoL. II.— 19 


218 


THE dlllET HUSBAND. 


Mr. Ashton would have remonstrated, but Robert, snatch- 
ing up his hat, left the house on the instant; and when his 
father reached the door was striding towards Captain Pow- 
er’s in a stale of mind that was closely bordering on insanity. 
Strange wooing he was like to make of it; but perhaps the 
lady would not be particular, he being an eldest son, and 
heir apparent to a good estate. 

“Ah, Robert! I was just coming to you,” exclaimed 
Captain Power, meeting him suddenly at a turn in the path. 

“ And what did you want of me?” inquired Robert 
loftily, his flashing eye bespeaking a great inclination to 
quarrel. 

“ To tell what I am sure, from your high regard for my 
sister, will give you pleasure. After you left us last night 
Sir Richard Sampson proposed to Harriet and was accepted. 
He was piqued by your attentions to my sister — attentions 
which Harriet and I knew very well meant nothing; and 
finding him still a little inclined to jealousy, though with- 
out cause, I thought it best to come and give you a hint, as 
I know you desire my sister’s happiness as much as my- 
self, and will equally rejoice at her splendid prospects.” 

“ I was never more rejoiced in my life. Hurrah! for 
the bride and the bridegroom!” shouted Robert, his wild 
mood taking another turn, throwing up his hat, which 
lodged among the boughs; and then bursting into fits of 
laughter as he pelted the tree to bring it down, laughter in 
which Captain Power thought it as well to join. 

“ Now that you have regained your hat, and heard the 
news, I must go back again, for the baronet is to call this 
morning about settlements,” said Captain Power, w'ho, to 
do him justice, did feel some embarrassment at the part he 
was acting, conscious that he and his sister had done all 
they could to catch Robert Ashton, whom they now so un- 
ceremoniously threw off for the sake of a better match. 

“I will not detain you then. Power. Give my compli- 
ments to the bride elect, and tell her that no one more truly 
rejoices at her engagement; and that I greatly admire the 
wisdom of her choice. Sir Richard has the character of 
being a fool, but the selection he has made must disprove 
the charge. Good morning.” 

Captain Power bit his lip; but said nothing — and so they 
parted. 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


219 


“ What back so soon!” said Mr. Ashton, whom his son 
encountered in the plantation. 

“ Yes, sir; after my departure, the lady accepted Sir 
Richard Sampson, and despatched her brother to me, lest I 
should keep the morning’s appointment and spoil sport, the 
baronet being given to jealousy.” 

“ I am heartily glad to hear it; and congratulate you on 
your escape,” replied Mr. Ashton warmly. 

I too am most thankful, sir, for being saved from the 
effects of my own folly,” observed his son, whose wild 
mood had sobered down into a more reasonable temper. 

“ There is a letter for you on my table from your friend 
Whitehead.” 

“ Is there? Then 1 will go and get it.” 

“ Cecil, I am come to wish you good bye,” cried Robert 
entering the sitting room where she chanced to be alone. 

“Are you going away then?” she asked not knowing 
what to say. 

“ Yes; it is better for me, and for you too. I should be 
committing some wild act if I stayed, for I can not as yet 
bear to behold his happiness, though I see that you feel 
for me. I understand your delicate kindness, and intend to 
prove myself worthy of your esteem; but I must have time 
and thought for this. I am a strange creature, and want to 
comprehend every thing, so you must answer me one ques- 
tion; I know all the rest from Emma. Why did you al- 
ways blush and seem embarrassed when Fleetwood and 
Skinner were named? And why did you decline being in- 
troduced to them? Do not fear to pain me by your ansv\ er,” 
he added, seeing that she hesitated. 

“ I had overheard them speak slightingly of Lord Fitz 
Elwyn.” 

“I am answered. Would that I had been blessed with 
such devoted affection! But I did not deserve it; and will 
not pain you by recurring to the past. I am now going to 
the Xakes with Whitehead; but trust to regain sufficient 
firmness to attend Emma’s wedding — and yours,” he ad- 
ded with a shudder. “ I must bear my fate as a brave man 
ought. God bless you, Cecil! and forgive me if I can not 
at this moment congratulate you as I should.” 

Cecil was moved; her tears fell at his words — his own 
gathered in his eyes, but he retained them from falling by 


220 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


a strong effort, and pressing her hand to his lips rushed 
from the room. 

In the liall he encountered the viscount, who would have 
passed him with a formal bow, this being the first lime 
they had met since the election. 

‘‘I cannot wish you happiness, my lord, for the words 
would choke me,” exclaimed Robert, addressing the star- 
tled Fitz Elwyn. “ Bid Cecil tell you the cause of my 
former enmity, and learn from her to pity him, who loves 
as devotedly, though not as generously as yourself. We 
are foes no more — perhaps hereafter we may be friends.” 

There was no lime for reply, for Robert shot past him 
like an arrow; and Fitz Elwyn hastened on to learn from 
Cecil not only to forgive; but to esteem and admire his 
wayward rival. 

The report of Cecil’s approaching marriage cost Mr. 
Fleetwood a bitter pang; and there were some who said that 
he would rather have lost his seat than his bride; but Mrs. 
Ashton, whose taste for w^eddings seemed to grow more 
insatiable every day, instead of giving credit to this, hoped 
that he would transfer his affection to Sarah, and Robert 
enact the lover towards Miss Knight. Indeed, Charles as- 
serted that his mother was looking out for a match for him; 
but this ^he positively denied, declaring that he was too 
wild for any woman to think of. 

Mrs. Ashton was in her element; bustling here — and 
bustling there: fidgeting this person — and fidgeting that; — 
fussing about cake, favors, and wedding clothes; but she 
showed in all her bustling and fussing, so much real kind- 
ness of heart, and rejoiced so sincerely in Cecil’s happy 
prospects, without one thought of jealousy for her daugh- 
ters, that Lord and Lady Lindmoor soon learnt to overlook 
her foibles in consideration of her sterling good qualities; 
and according to Fitz Elwyn, there is some chance of the 
earl’s hereafter trying her never failing drops as he predicted. 

“ You going to marry Cecil Clare, Fitz Elwyn, and at- 
tached before I knew her! I never thought of that, as Mrs. 
Ashton would say,” exclaimed Sir Thomas Willerton, when 
told the news on his return from town. “ You must have 
haled me; and 1 cannot sufficiently express my admiration 
of your generosity in not putting me to death by bowl or 
dagger.” 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


221 


“To tell the truth, I did wish us all drowned together 
in Alum Bay,” replied Filz Elwyn laughing. 

“ And very natural too; only a more selfish lover would 
have wished me to be the sole victim. But why did not 
you tell me this, when I was raving about Miss Clare?” 

“ Just because you were raving about her. Your love 
was so sudden that I had no time for confidence.” 

“ I have played the fool in my lime certainly. How- 
ever, Miss Clare deserved to be raved about; and I am not 
sure that I should have yielded her to you very willingly 
at that time; but I am settled for life now, or shall be soon. 
What will the Fords say to their poor governess marrying 
the eldest son of an earl? I detest all the tribe but Lotty; 
so fat, so merry, and so good-natured.” 

“ They are in speech all gratitude and delight, for Cecil 
has coaxed me and her uncle to let her adopt Lotty, as she 
calls it; and the child is in raptures at the idea of being her 
dear cousin Cecil’s bridesmaid. Mr. Ford has completely 
ruined himself by dabbling in railway and mining shares; 
and the family have nothing but the interest of her little for- 
tune, which cannot be touched, to live on. In conse- 
quence, Mr. Beckington Ford will have to seek another 
bride. Miss Hatton having declared off; and the malicious 
purpose that his father, to gratify his gourmandise, should 
set up a restaurant in Paris.” 

“ This is poetical justice; they deserve no better for their 
treatment of Cecil Clare, to whom, by the way, I am impa- 
tient to offer my congratulations, so let us be gone,” cried 
the impatient baronet, hurrying off the not unwilling vis- 
count to Ashton Grove. 

“ What have you hid in this quiet corner of this very 
quiet field, Flinter?” asked Lord Fitz Elwyn, who, return- 
ing from a walk with Cecil a few days before that fixed for 
the wedding, wondered what object could have so com- 
pletely engrossed the bailiff’s attention, as to prevent his 
observing their approach. 

“Oil! nothing petikilar, my lord,” replied the embar- 
rassed Flinter, turning away from the mysterious object in 
the corner of the field, and affecting an air of indifference, 
which sat so awkwardly upon him as to increase the vis- 
count’s curiosit}’’. 

“ Nothing particular! Why it is Mrs. Praed’s new har- 


222 


THE QUIET HUSBAND. 


row I verily believe!” exclaimed his lordship, peeping 
round Flinler, who had made himself as large as he could 
in the vain hope of hiding the subject of inquiry. 

“ Well there, my lord, what could I do?” cried the poor 
baffled bailiff* with cheeks as red as a robin’s breast, and in 
a deprecating tone, finding further concealment hopeless. 
“You see, my lord, young Fraser was thrown from his 
horse just afore my door, so I could not as a Christian do 
less than take him in; and when the doctor said he must 
not be removed, I thought being in my house I must go and 
talk to him. So there we spoke about farming, and other 
things, natural enough; and he W'as so thankful for the little 
I did to make him comfortable, and prevent his getting in 
the dumps, that I could not refuse to try the harrow, though 
I am sure it won’t do, when I found his heart was set upon 
it; for you see, my lord, a sick man ain’t like a man in 
health — he must be humored a little. Besides, I find that 
he ain’t so much of a furriner as I thought, for there is no 
crossing the sea to get into his country, as there is to get to 
the Frenches; and he says our Queen Bess cut off the head 
of one of his queens, and that our kings came out of his land; 
and there I used to think that it had been all the other way.” 

“ No, Flinter, Fraser’s history is quite correct; but I see 
how it is, you are getting a taste for new things, and will 
be trying sheep’s head and haggis next.” 

“ Ah! my lord, I see you and Miss Cecil are laughing 
at me; but again I ask what could I do, when the sick 
man made such a point of it, and in my own house too^” 
pleaded the discomfitted bailiff. “I find Frazer has very 
good notions of farming, thoff he is a furriner like, I 
hope you don’t think me changeable and mean spirited, 
my lord?” 

“ Not at all, Flinter; on the contrary, I think you acted 
as a kind and reasonable man; but you will get such a 
taste for sheep’s head and haggis that you will turn away 
from a piece of old English roast beef.” 

“ No, no, my lord; no fear of that. I am sure I shan’t like 
them, only 1 promised to try them once, just to please him.” 

“ Oh! Flinter you are acquiring a dangerous taste for 
novelties; the next thing you will be trying the Fab-nab- 
washerwoman, that you were talking to me about.” 

“ Ah! my lord; that Fab-nab-washerwoiuan was a fa- 


THE QUIET HUSBAND, 


223 


mous thing for me,” exclaimed the honest bailiff, every 
show of embarrassment gone, and his little eyes twinkling 
with mischievous triumph. “It has turned out a hum, as 
I always said it would; and let missus be teasing ever so 
bad, I have only to ax her about that, and she is quiet di- 
rectly, and lets me do every thing as 1 like; and so now 
when I knows how I can stop her, I lets her go on the 
longer, for missus is a good woman in the main, if she 
would but leave me and the farm alone. She have a’most 
kept the Purcells ever since he broke his arm;" and the pigs 
don’t go in the turmits now. Yes, yes; that F?ib-nab- 
washerwoman was a famous thing for me,’^ 


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